I'll Be Your Juliet If You Be My Somerhalder
by LifeIsTooShortEatIceCream
Summary: Every beautiful love story has a beautiful beginning. Ours was when he was rip-roaring drunk and vomited on me in the basement of a house-party. Embry/OC, imprint story
1. Quite the Compromising Situation, Indeed

_Calla POV_

Well. Crap.

I was in quite the compromising situation, wasn't I?

I ripped off the piece of black construction paper taped to the window pane, and was met with the most unfortunate sight of two police cars sitting in the driveway, their headlights strobing red-and-blue into the darkness of the street. I couldn't hear any sirens, but that may have been because the music was so loud and so bad that you could barely hear somebody screaming in your ear from two feet away. A policeman opened up the door of the car, hitched up his potbelly, then started determinedly towards the house.

Fear lurched in my chest, making my spine stiffen. I hastily slapped the paper back onto the window and turned on my heel, facing the sweaty sea of people in front of me.

My sister. Josie. Oh _God_. What would she do if I was arrested? What would I tell dad?

I didn't think I was drunk. I still had all of my clothes on and dignity intact, so I probably wasn't. I looked down at the red plastic cup in my hand. Almost all gone, and beneath it was stacked another, empty one. So maybe not drunk, but a breathalyzer would not be my best friend right now.

_Crap. _

I shoved into the crowd of teenagers, expecting the front door to open at any moment and bust us all. People were completely oblivious, still grinding and shaking and making out all over the place. It was dark, the limited light flashing off of bare skin and neon-pink bra straps. There were puddles of beer on the ground. A girl to my left was in a puddle on the ground as well, either puking or dancing. Hard to tell.

I elbowed people out of the way, teetering in my heels as I rounded a corner into a less-populated hallway. A boy had some girl pressed against the wall, his face buried in the bust of her mini-dress. The last thing I wanted right now was to become an awkward third wheel in _that. _I skirted around another corner.

I could hear the sirens now, and people screaming. The noise pierced through the house at a different decibel than whatever junk was playing on the stereo. My heart stuttered.

Some guy was in my way. I shoved him aside, and he fell to the ground. Alcohol poisoning, probably. Now he would pass out and suffocate on his own spit and die, while his friends laughed about how wasted he was.

Isn't partying _fun_?

Another corner. The heavy thud of police man's boots. The music stopped, and my ears ached in the abrupt silence that followed, broken only by the sound of more shouting. Now everybody was running, the whole under-aged lot of us, shoving and pushing in an effort to get to a backdoor that nobody knew the whereabouts of. I couldn't blame them; once the cops are in the house, it's every man for himself.

My fingers groped along the wall for a doorknob, window, some means of escape—there! I swung open a door, and a wave of cleaning-agents fell on my head. Nope. That would be a closet. I kept running.

In the front room they were probably rounding everybody up, turning on lights while everybody denied everything—"Me? Beer? _Noooooooo! _Let me just throw out this Budlight can in my hand, and I'll answer all your questions!"

Another door. Stairs. Without looking back, I plunged down, tripping and sliding over the carpeted steps, grasping onto probably very expensive picture frames to keep my balance.

There was a dim lamp in the corner of the furnished basement, pooling yellow light that made me squint.

It was quiet down here. Kind of nice. There was a tangle of legs and arms and blankets on a couch, a girl and a boy who may or may not have been in a relationship outside of the party hooking up with each other. A couple of boys, leaning against the wall, quietly talking and sipping their drinks. The thick, oily-sweet smell of marijuana floated in on the cool air from an open door—

Door! Escape! No arrest, warm beds, dad won't know a thing!

I was almost to the doorway. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. I could definitely hear the sirens, now. Too late to remember my jacket upstairs. I would simply have to freeze as I walked home. Five feet. Fresh air permeated the smell of pot and Doritos and booze—

_Aaaaaaaand _there goes my great escape.

A boy appeared in front of me, the size of Mount Everest.

Not even kidding. I almost cleared six feet, earning me the title of a _fur-reak _in girl world. But this guy had at least a good half a foot on me, if not more, even in my heels. And he wasn't just tall, he was _big_, broad-shouldered with long arms roped with muscle—

_No, _Calla. Now is seriously not the time to be admiring a certain someone's muscular extremities. Police upstairs, remember?

It wasn't just him. It was a group of boys, though I didn't recognize any of them as the resident stoners of the Quileute Nation Tribal High School, which was where most everybody at the party came from. They were part of the really popular group, with a lot written on the walls of the girl's bathroom regarding the size of their—_ahem, _male essential organs. Chase, I think, and Jordan…

Run, Calla! Police! Think of Josie!

"Ex-excuse me—I need to get—_move_!" I tried to shove Everest aside-Embry, I think was his name-and squeeze through the door, to no avail, except I made him drop his beer. I don't think he even noticed.

Or maybe he did. Because now he was turning around. He had a weird look on his face, like he was angry. Or maybe that was just the lighting. Or maybe that was just his face.

Oh, God. I could hear a door opening. The police were coming downstairs. Somebody yelled and seconds later the lamp crashed to the ground, and everything was pitch dark except for the little pool of light from the open door that me and Everest were in. And he was turning around and for a split seconds our eyes met and a lurching, squeezing feeling in my chest made me gasp. It was so dark, but somehow I could tell that his eyes were green. Dark green. Like grass-velvet or the sea at dusk or the emeralds on what used to be my mother's baby ring, hidden in a box underneath my bed—

I couldn't move. I couldn't think. My heart was stumbling around in my chest, trying to pick itself back up. Frozen in time. The police, the smell of pot, the cold from the door- it all melted away and it was just me and him and the tingly feeling on my skin and his green eyes and-

And then he puked on me.

Seriously. He kind of lurched forward, one arm braced out to push me out of the way, and the next thing I knew, the boozy contents of his stomach were dripping through the thin fabric of my dress.

Well. How wonderful.

That squeezing feeling in my chest? The one that, seconds ago, I might daresay to have been my heart or something close to it? Yeah, it kinda died.

"Wha-what the _hell_?"

The police, the smells, the panic, everything came rushing back, making me dizzy. Or maybe that was just the alcohol. It felt like the bubbles from the beer were pressing at my veins, making my limbs warm and loose and cloudy.

Afore-mentioned barfer was staggering next to me, leaning against the wall to keep himself upright. You just _puked _on me, bud. That least you could do is _apologize_!

I still wasn't really sure what the hell was going on. Everything felt like a dream.

Maybe that was why I had the confidence to reach out and slap him on the face, my hand sticky with dried beer. _That _got his attention. "Hey!"

"Wha...What the... Who-Who're you?" His gaze dragged over my body, making me feel oddly exposed.

A flashlight beamed on the ground two feet away, and I could hear the police calling for everybody to stay calm and take out their ID. I needed out. _Now_.

All of a sudden I felt a hot flash of anger. Anger at the party, at myself for doing this every other fricking weekend, for the beer and for the goddamn _dude_ in front of me who would not get out of the fricking way-

I shoved him in the stomach, hard, with my elbow, and found it to be the equivalent of trying to shove a brick wall. He moved over, though, one hand on his cheek from where I had slapped him, eyes unfocused and glazed. I darted to the door.

"Hey, wait... Wait!" The slur in his voice was abruptly gone. I was already two feet out the door, but all of a sudden a heavy, hot hand was on my shoulder, pulling me back-

I screamed. He let go.

"Please! Please, just wait! I need to-"

"Like hell," I snarled, ripping off my heels in one movement and slinging them on one finger, vaulting up the steps. Oh geez it was _cold_. Horribly, painfully cold, below freezing and I was in barefeet and a minidress-

"Come back!"

The door was slamming shut. He was running after me. Now I was scared. I had two options: I could either turn around and try to fight the guy, or I could run like hell.

Fortunately, running like hell is my specialty. I do it every Friday. Unfortunately, he caught up with me in two ginormous strides, and then he was holding onto my arm, his skin actually _seering_ into mine, nearly pulling my arm out of its socket as I was jerked to a stop.

"Don't _touch_ me!" All of the self-defense I knew rushed into my mind. Basically: kick him in the balls. Kick him in the balls _hard_.

He was staring at me. Mouth half-open, half-smiling, half something else. Staring at me like he was seeing the light.

He was probably high. Probably high and drunk and about to rape me and smother me and desert me in the woods somewhere-and he was so big! I was electric with adrenaline, wide-eyed and scared, my legs already numb from the cold. A weapon. I needed a weapon. He had keys, hanging on one of his belt loops, glinting vaguely silver in the light of the streetlamp. I reached out and grabbed them without even thinking, ripping the fabric of his belt loop. I was prepared to try to stab him or something, which in retrospect probably wouldn't have done _squat,_ but he abruptly let go of my arm, looking vaguely confused.

I took the opportunity to run for all I was worth.

Wind stung my eyes and cheeks. My feet slapped against the wet pavement with each step. I felt like I was flying, facets in the dark asphalt sparkling as the ground rushed beneath me. I turned a street corner, dashed through a backyard, did anything to get away as fast as I could.

It was about a minute before the adrenaline started to wear off. My chest hurt. My lungs felt sick, sick and achy and throbbing with each breath as my heart hammered to keep up. I glanced back over my shoulder for the first time, relief at the sight that he wasn't there nearly making me fall to my knees, which I did seconds later against the fake-stone siding of the nearby house.

I realized, after a few moments, that I still had his keys.

* * *

**AAAAH! New story! I'm so excited! :D I will update every Thursday evening and Sunday morning. Okay, and honestly: has there ever been an author on fanfiction that was like, "Nobody review my story! I hate reviews!" Didn****'t think so. Anyways, I'll say this once and then never again for the rest of the story:**

**Reviews make a writer's world go 'round! Please leave a comment!**

**Allrighty. That's all for now. I had a bunch of other crap to say but I forgot. The next chapter is ready and waiting at my anxious, red nail-polished fingers, so please stay in tune! **


	2. Didn't Know Barefeet Could Look So Good

_Embry POV_

_Trace a continuum from the early civilizations in the Middle East, through the Graeco-Roman world to the development of the medieval European, Byzantine and Islamic ecumene. What were the elements of change? What were the dynamics of cultural diffusion? What can be identified as key events/turning points?_

Who in the _bloody hell _cares?

Fed up, I snapped the Modern World textbook shut and shoved it off the bed, where it landed with a muffled _thump _on a pile of dirty clothes. I balled my hands into fists and pressed them to my forehead, already feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

Good God. And it was only 7:30 in the morning.

Speaking of which—shit. I was supposed to have left five minutes ago.

I grabbed a shirt off of the pile on the floor reserved for school—hopefully relatively decent-smelling and blood free, and slapped some water on my face from the rusty sink. Breakfast was the stale crumbs at the bottom of a Pringles can. It occurred to me that I should probably buy some food or something—oh, wait. I'm broke.

My mood was foul, and I knew it. It was all because of that damn party Friday night. Maybe not so much the party, but the girl.

Why couldn't I stop thinking about her?

I picked up my backpack by its broken straps and shoved open the door. The frigid wind was like a slap to the face compared to the interior of the warm little cabin. All the animals that knew what were good for them were either hibernating or cooped up underground, braving out the last legs of winter, leaving the forest eerily grey and quiet. I wished I could do the same.

My Chrysler was waiting for me right outside the door, free from the auto-body shop in exchange for six months of work. I didn't think it was worth it—putting up with Jake and the smell of cigarettes and no central heating or AC for half a year should have gotten me more than a shitty piece of 1980's metal. Jared said that it looked like a girl's car.

Whatever.

I tried to start the car, tried to start the car again, actually started the car, turned on the radio, and then had to turn it back off to jump out and retrieve my Modern World Textbook.

And then I was off. To high school. The only thing I hated more than vampires.

I was tired. I had taken triple patrol last night, for both Jacob and Jared, and the three hours of sleep I had gotten weren't enough to erase the exhaustion in my muscles. I don't even remember what their excuse was this time—though chances were is was to be with Renesmee and Kim. For that matter, I don't remember why I always agreed to do the extra hours, because I would end up regretting it the morning after. I guess it wasn't like I had anything better to do. Except sleep.

As I reversed out of the forest along a rutted road, I felt a familiar heaviness in my chest. Here I was, werewolf, an eighteen (give or take) year old guy, and my life was already stuck like a stick in mud. Go to school. Pretend you care about the girls and parties all of your friends care about. Get drunk, run yourself to the ground at night, sleep for five minutes, slave by the light of your crappy cell-phone to do homework, and then start the whole process all over again.

All the other guys questioned why I still went to school. Brady and Colin were freshmen, and Seth had finished high school and gone to college already with his girlfriend- a year earlier than me even though he was younger, because I had dropped out for a year after I first phased. Other than that, most of the guys had yet to finish their high school education, and they questioned why I didn't just stop showing up like they had.

The answer: I wanted to go to college, too. Be an engineer. Something like that. If anything: get the hell out of this God-forsaken town.

I knew it was stupid, and that it probably wouldn't happen. But lately, after my mom kicked me out, I became the last non-imprinted guy in the pack, and Allie-the-bitch broke up with me, going to college was the only thing that I had to look forward to. That, and the twins.

This particular morning, however, as misty rain droplets blurred everything around me into a green rush and My Chemical Romance played on the radio, I was able to push all of that out of my mind.

The party was like any other.

It was hosted in a house located in one of the new suburban, cookie-cutter mansions built a couple miles from downtown. Drugs, beer, and people having sex in the bathroom. Simon was upstairs, Chase was high, and Jordan was making out with his girlfriend. I was tired of being hit on, and had retreated to the relative peace of the basement.

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the attention from the girls. They were…fun, I guess. But they were all _the same_. Laugh and touch my arm. Get drunk and touch my chest. Prom, our football team, how it might actually be sunny next weekend, even though it never is. Kissing one girl might as well be the same as kissing the next. I usually knew the names of the girls who I actually screwed around with, but they were nothing but placeholders. Or days of the week. _Monday was Lara, Tuesday was Heather..._

Lately, the monotony had been getting too much. Hooking up with no emotional connection was most of my friends' goal in life, but it has started to become...boring.

The guys in the pack were really starting to worry about me.

Quil asked, if that was the problem, then why didn't I try to get to know them better? Make conversation? And the answer was that I _had _tried that. But there always came a point in time where the girl would be talking and talking and I would be nodding and I'd come to realize that I just really, _really _didn't care about what they were talking about. At all.

But then, last Friday, _she _happened.

The most frustrating thing is that, for some reason, I don't even fully remember what happened. Or for that matter, why the hell I can't get her out of my head.

I was drunk, I know that much. Piss-ass hammered. I could hear the police come in upstairs long before anybody else in that basement could, but I wasn't particularly worried. I could pass for twenty-five, easy, much less twenty-one.

There's somebody at my side. A girl. She's probably telling me to get the hell out of the way so she can escape out the basement door, but I'm far too preoccupied with the vague glowing in my chest and the fact that I can't look away from her. I don't remember the color of her eyes, her hair, or what she was wearing, though it couldn't have been all that much. All I remember is the striking image of her profile, dark against the brightness of the police's flashlight. She has a tiny, turned up nose, and her eyelashes are fluttering as she looks away from me in a way that makes me know she's scared.

And then everything fast forwards. I remember feeling dizzy as it all abruptly comes back into focus when she shoves past me, as if the alcohol was dissolving right out of my bloodstream.

There's another image. More distinct than the first, then the glimpse of her profile. It was as if all the lights were off and they flashed on once for less than a second- and in that second was captured an image of her, burned into my brain.

Her skin, honey-pale in the light of the streetlamp. She's tall and thin and made up of sharp angles from the shadows that are being cast on her. Legs-long, long, long, thin and graceful, like a ballerina or something. Her face is turned away from me, and she's clutching something in one hand-shoes? That would make sense, because she's barefoot.

Clear as a picture. I would draw it, if I could draw for shit.

My last memory is of standing in the street alone, watching her as she runs away from me, the white soles of her feet flashing as they churn out the pavement underneath her.

When I phased, the guys had all agreed that I hadn't imprinted. They said it felt different than that. Stronger. Somebody had probably just spiked the beer or something, and that was why I couldn't stop thinking that she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. To be honest, the thought of imprinting on one of _them_, one of the made-from-a-mold party girls that went to our school, was kind of depressing.

I had felt restless all weekend, annoyed and angry for no reason. I couldn't help but think...

No. No more thinking. School wasn't the place for that. As I pulled into the parking lot, taking my traditional spot as far away as possible from the front building, I resolved to let it go. I was confident that I'd never seen her before, so that pretty much meant she was from out of town. I'd probably never see her again in my life.

An abrupt rush of panic flooded my chest, which made absolutely no sense.

I slammed the car door shut and ran a hand through my hair. I remembered Jacob's voice from yesterday as I recounted everything, as he rolled his eyes and ran his hands through Nessie's hair as they lay out on the beach. "For God's sake, Embry. Just let her go. It doesn't mean anything."

_Let her go. _

Easier said than done.

**Okay, so I said that I wasn't going to update until Sunday... But I just couldn't wait that long, thanks to my impatient nature and Athena'sOwl! Your reviews were all so wonderful and supportive, I can't thank you enough! **

**All right, two things that I want to know to improve the pleasure of your reading experience: **

**1. Now that you've had both POVs, who do you like the most? Calla's a bit easier to write, just because, seeing as I _am_****a teenage girl, it's easier to _write _about a teenage girl, than, you know. A man. **

**2. Is anybody very easily offended by cussing? Because Calla certainly isn't, and I wouldn't want any of you to get mad and leave or something... **

**I've pretty much fed my whole updating schedule to the foxes (on the second chapter, too-maybe that's why I'm so bad at scheduling...), so just expect the next chapter within the next couple of days! :D Love you guys! **


	3. That Hat

_Embry POV_

"Dude, dude _look_." Chase elbows me in the side, trying to act surreptitious as he gives a girl The Size-Up from the corner of his eye. "Look at her!"

I sigh, and lean down to put my books back in my locker. At the beginning of the year I was going to bully the person above me to give me the top locker, but then it turned out to be a freshmen girl who was so shy she pretty much quaked every time I so much as looked at her. I decided to live with the constant lower back pain from bending over to a fourth of my size ten times a day. "Pretty hot."

"Really? You think so? How hot? On a scale of, like, zero to Sabrina." Ah, Sabrina. The resident it-girl of our humble high school. I had gone out with her, once. She ordered the most expensive item on the menu and didn't eat any of it, and then her friends happened to go to the same restaurant and invited themselves over, so I got to spend the rest of the night listening to how the costumes for the school musical made their boobs look bad.

I give my typical answer. "Six."

"Aw, come on, dude. You didn't even look."

I stand up, and look at the girl. She has brown hair. "Six."

Chase gives me a look that tells me he's annoyed, but I ignore it and head towards the cafeteria. It's lunch period. Free food. If you chew as little as possible, sometimes it doesn't even taste half bad.

Most of the guys we pass either get out of the way or nod to me and slap Chase on the shoulder, briefly congratulating him for making it out of the _wicked_ party last Friday. The girls giggle, smile, wave, or keep their heads down until we're passed. I don't really understand why people like Chase so much. He's kind of a douche. I don't really understand why people want to hang out with me, either. Sometimes I wish they would all leave me the hell alone.

"You've got to stop acting like this, dude," Chase says as we enter the cafeteria.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't care."

"About what?"

"About-about-" the conversation was obviously reaching a level Chase was uncomfortable with. I eye a freshmen, who moves out of the way to give us his place in the line for food. "You know. Everything. I show you some banging girl, and you don't even look at her. And at the party, you barely even messed around or anything. I mean, did you even drink?"

"More than I should have."

The cafeteria lady plops a large spoonful or congealed meat onto my plate. I take it, and thank her. She smiles at. To be honest, she's probably my favorite person in the whole school, nevermind that she's pushing seventy.

"You still not over Allie?"

I wish we weren't having this conversation. Allie-my girlfriend of six months, my ex-girlfriend of four. Dyed red-hair, nice butt. We spent half the time drunk and hooking up, the other half sober and hating each other. At least I knew what to expect. And she let me crash at her place in the treacherous months before mom kicked me out. I didn't realize how much I missed the relative stability until she broke up with me. Regardless, I was kind of glad to be rid of her.

However, for Chase's sake, I jump at the excuse.

"Yeah."

"You need to move on, man. Or at least get a rebound girl."

I nod. "I'm thinking about it."

"Who?"

I shrug. "Dunno." We start walking over to our usual table near the windows, already crowded with people. The windows were reserved for seniors, and the occasional junior girl with a reputation. The corner closest to the exit was strictly for juniors, and the tables closest to the food were for sophomores. The poor little freshmen scurried around amidst everybody else, trying to fit in wherever they could. I think Chase realized that he was losing my interest in the conversation, and jumped to regain it.

"Listen, there's gonna be another party this Friday." Isn't there always? "It's at-well, it's at Allie's, but don't worry, everybody else's gonna be there. You could find yourself another girl, or wingman for me. Or just get drunk. Wanna come?"

I'd rather sleep. Really, I'd rather do something important with my life, but what're the chances of that? Sam will probably want me for patrol, but he can deal. I don't even know why we bother anymore. The last hint of anything foreign we've found was a couple months ago, and that was just a passing group of nomads. Didn't stop everybody from freaking out, though- 'Oh my God, they're gonna kill Nessie!' Give me a break. That girl is more sheltered than Fort Knox.

"Sure. I'll come."

"Awesome. Listen, dude, did you do the calc homework? 'Cause I was totally going to do it, but then I got home and realized I forgot my textbook-"

We had reached our table, and Chase took a seat. I was about to assure him that, yes, you can copy my calc homework, but don't blame me when you fail senior year. Except I didn't get the chance. Because I just happened to look up, and that's when it happened.

That's when I saw _her_.

She looked different. At the party, she had looked- I don't quite know how to explain it. _Wild_. Carefree, with her bare-feet and legs so long it almost ached to look at them.

Here, in the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria, I can almost understand why I could've sworn I'd never seen her before Friday.

She's sitting at one of the tables at the outskirts of jumior territory, amidst the nerds and annoying people on one side, and the art freaks on the other. Her body is angled towards us, the windows, and she isn't talking or eating. There is a book in her lap. Brown tights underneath holey jeans that are too big, a tight green sweater underneath an over-sized green sweater. She's wearing a hat, one of those newsboy ones, also green. Her hair is either short or put up where I can't see it.

For some reason, I find myself forgetting how to breathe.

Chase is looking confusedly in the direction I'm staring, trying to see what's so interesting. Suddenly, Jordan, sitting across from us, bursts out laughing, nearly snorting his Coke. "Remember her, dude?"

Could it be the same girl? Could it? Yes, it has to be. The same slender curve of her neck, same chipped red fingernail polish. It's her. "I-what?"

"Remember her? From the party?"

"I-uh, no," I lie. Should I go talk to her? Why am I freaking out so much? I don't know her. Why do I choose this moment to realize how goddamn beautiful she is? God, and she's wearing a hat, too. And baggy jeans.

"You bastard," chuckles Jordan. "Too wasted to even remember."

"What?" I tear my gaze away, right as she looks up. My skin is burning, moreso than usual. I have to blink a couple times to get Jordan into focus. "What happened?"

"You kinda hurled on her, dude."

It takes me a moment to process that. "_What_?"

"Yup. Up and up-chucked on her."

I look from Jordan to her and back again, then groan and bury my face in my hands. "Are you serious? Please do not be shitting with me." But I knew he wasn't. Little pieces of memory were coming back, of the churning in my stomach...

Oh God. "She smacked me, too, didn't she?"

"Yup. I say good for her, too. Kinda funny, though, you hafta admit."

No, Jordan, it is not funny. Puking on any girl, much less one that made me feel the way she did, would have been embarrassing, but this- I wanted to hurt myself. Chase is laughing now, guffawing at my expense.

"Way to make a first impression, Embry."

"Please shut up, Chase."

He snorts with laughter again, then slaps me on the shoulder. "Lighten up, dude. If it was Sabrina, then yeah, it would suck. But she's nobody. You'll laugh about it tomorrow."

My head jerks up. "She's not _nobody_."

"She isn't? Looks like it. You know her?"

I stare at Chase. _She's nobody_. For some reason, I feel my fists twitch, except this time I'm wanting to punch Chase, instead of myself. He just called her a nobody. He didn't even know her. Granted, neither did I, but that didn't matter. Chase takes in my expression, growing increasingly infuriated, and tries to backpedal. "Whoa, dude. I didn't mean it. Just... she's wearing a _hat _Embry. Who does that?"

I stand up abruptly, my chair shrieking on the linoleum flooring. I turn away from Chase. "Whoa, dude, where're you going?" Jordan asks.

"I'm going to-to apologize."

Suddenly having puked on her doesn't seem so bad. It would give me and excuse to talk to her. I knew that the guys would give me hell about it later, but I didn't care. I wasn't even thinking about them anymore. I _needed_ to talk to her. _  
_

"Have fun," calls out Jordan, still laughing.

As I draw closer, it's as if everything else in the cafeteria dissolves away into nothing. I notice things I didn't before- how there are wisps of hair sticking from underneath her hat, so blonde it's almost white. She's reading the Maltese Falcon, a book assigned for English. I feel vaguely disappointed at that, though I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I was hoping she was reading something I had read. Maybe it was because I was looking to find another high-schooler who actually read voluntarily. Speaking of which, one of the downsides of living alone in a cabin in the woods: no company. So, yes, I did read. Some. A lot. Not that I'd ever tell anybody that.

I was almost next to her, now. The oddest things were happening to me. I felt- at peace? No. That's stupid and doesn't make sense, because my heart was beating faster the closer I got to her. It was true, though- I no longer felt restless. There was no heaviness in my chest, and for once I wasn't annoyed at my friends or angry at my mother or worried...

I was as close as I would dare to come. I clench my fists. She turns a page. I try to breathe.

What the _hell _is happening to me?

"Hey."

I wait a moment, and it's as if everything is frozen in time. She's wearing make-up, some kind of crap on her face that make it a shade darker than the pale skin on her neck. Her features-lips, nose, eyelashes, are all kind of soft and turned up, like the petals of a rose. She looks like a flower.

She doesn't answer. Either she doesn't hear me or thinks I'm talking to someone else. I'm about to speak again, when-

When she looks up.

Our eyes meet. Hers, large and hazel. Mine, open for the first time.

I am glowing. I am floating.

This girl- this beautiful, hat-wearing girl-in a matter of less than a second, has become the most important thing in my life.

That's when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt:

I've imprinted.

**Oodles of excitement! **

**I kind of have the next seven chapters already written, so I can't really change the POV, but I've switched to writing more in Calla.**** I've also recently been introduced to the wonders of country music (who would have known, I used to hate that stuff), so if you see my writing affected by some southern twang any times soon, that's why! Thanks so much for reading, I'm so happy to be posting! :) **


	4. What's the Deal With Everest?

_Calla POV_

I have mastered the art of lunchtime.

Step #1: Pack your own lunch. This not only saves you from the hustle and confusion of trying to shove your way into line to get food before the bell rings, but also protects you from possible salmonella poisoning or cancer or whatever the cafeteria ladies put in their mashed potatoes.

Step #2: Choose your seat carefully. You don't want to sit in any kind of friend group, nor in close proximity to the windows where Chase and his girlfriends sit, because this will undoubtedly lead to uncomfortable stares and people laughing about you behind your back. However, you also don't want to sit with the losers, because that, by default, makes you a loser. Rather, choose a seat somewhere near the middle, close enough to people that it looks like you have friends, but far away enough that they don't feel you're trying to impede on their thriving social life.

Step #3: Choose some form of activity. Homework is good. Gives the impression that you have better things to do with your life after school than complete your English project.

I was almost eighteen years old. This kind of thing should have stopped in seventh grade. I shouldn't care what people think of me-should I? But the thing was, even though I hadn't had a friend since last year, when I was a sophomore, when everything went bad, I was still trying.

And, yes, I realized that wearing a hat all the time may be hindering more than helping my plight. But sometimes, you 're so low on the social ladder that it doesn't hurt to roll around in the dirt a bit. Besides- my hair was perpetual thin and fine, the kind of wispy that you might see on a toddler, and light blonde. I had to cut it short, or it resembled some kind of snarled thread sewing project. Unfortunately, this meant that from a distance I kind of looked bald.

Hence the hat.

It was lunch period. Monday afternoon. I was reading the Maltese Falcon for English. It was a good book, but this was the fourth time I was reading it. Needless to say, my mind was wandering just a bit. Enough that when Embry and his crony, Chase, walk into the cafeteria, I take notice.

As far as I could tell, everybody liked Chase because he was friends with Embry. And everybody liked Embry because he was a senior and pretty much a Native American version of Ian Somerhalder. I hadn't actually ever heard the guy talk in a sentence of more than five words other than at the party on Friday. I wished that everybody would realize that the only thing he's probably ever done with his life was be born hot, so there's really no reason at all why everybody is in love with him and wants to be his friend when there are perfectly nice, lonely people who maybe aren't as attractive but still fully deserve to have friends, even if they wear hats.

Or maybe it was just that he was so hot that I had to be angry at him if I didn't want to become one of the other salivating girls, walking behind him and begging to have his children. Not literally. But pretty close.

He sits down. I remember what his hand on my arm felt like. I remember his keys, which are sitting on my dresser at home. Crap. He'll probably want those back.

Whenever I look at him, my chest feels fluttery. Whenever I _think _about him, my heart stars beating erratically. I don't think this used to happen. Something is wrong with me. For some reason, the fact the he barfed on me makes me like him more. Makes him seem less high and mighty.

I shake my head and focus determinedly on the page. I'm too old for some stupid crush.

Five minutes later, I've managed to all but forget about Embry.

Not for long.

The first thing I notice is that everybody in the vicinity is staring at something right behind me. The next thing I notice is the very large shadow that has been cast over my book. And then I know- I just _know _without looking up that he's standing right next to me.

"Hey."

I'm still startled when he speaks.

I keep my eyes down for a couple of breathless seconds, expecting somebody sitting behind me to answer him. Nobody does. I can feel my pulse pounding in my veins, could swear I could feel his gaze on me. When I look up, my eyes have to travel farther than expected. Where anybody else's normal head would be, his is still a foot up.

And then, for the second time, our eyes meet.

I know it is stupid. I know it is stupid and immature and I've barely ever even talked to this guy. All the same... when our eyes meet, I swear my heart stops. And when it starts again, there's a different purpose to it.

Stupid, right? So stupid. But horribly true.

Green eyes. More vibrant than my memories did justice to. Dark hair, unkempt and just long enough to be shaggy. Strong jaw, contradicted by a soft mouth. Have I ever actually looked him straight in the face? Somehow I seemed to think he looked angrier than he does now. Right now, he is looking at me with the oddest expression on his face. I cannot name it.

I look away. Is this happening?

"Hey," I answer. Brilliant. It comes out sounding like a question. I realize I was holding my breath and I let it all out, reminding myself not to be weird. He probably just wants his keys back, God. No need to fall in love with him.

He runs a hand through his hair. He still hasn't stopped staring at me, and I squirm uncomfortably, running my finger along the corner of the pages in my book.

"I just wanted to apologize." His voice is soft, low. "About Friday..."

It takes me a moment to even remember what he's talking about. "Oh, yeah. You, like, assaulted me."

He grimaces, and looks away for the first time. I take the opportunity to breathe again. He acts like he's going to move closer, but I must have looked really alarmed or something because he stays where he is. I feel conspicuous, having to crane my neck up so much to look him in the face. "Yeah, and I..."

"And you puked on me."

"Um, yeah, that _probably_ wasn't the best way to pick up a girl." We both laugh nervously. I squeeze my hands into fists in my lap. "But seriously, I'm really sorry about that," he says, sounding surprisingly earnest.

"Do you have money for a dry cleaner?"

His eyes widen. "No, but-"

"I'm kidding. You're... You're forgiven, I guess." We both laugh again, and I stare at the way the one corner of his mouth twitches up. He sets a hand down on the table, leaning forward. I catch a glimpse of his chest where his shirt dips down. I'm sure my face is flushed. This is embarrassing. I force myself to look back up, and he's still staring at me. And not in a polite, I'm-talking-to-you- so-I-should-probably-look-at-you kind of way, but in a I-am-seeing-you-right-down-to-your-soul kind of way.

This would be the perfect moment for him to be like, "Well, sorry again about Friday. See you." And then I'd be like, "Kay, see you," and then he would walk away and we'd never see each other again.

Except he doesn't move. I can't think when I'm looking at his face. I instead choose to look at his forearm, right next to me on the table. Tan, corded with muscle, and with a light layering of dark hair. Great. I still can't think.

I remember his keys. "I still have your- "

At the same time, he says, "What's your-"

We both stop, freeze, and look at each other. He runs his hand through his hair again. It's about the same length as mine, but if I did that all the time I would end up looking like freaking Keith Richards. This whole conversation is awkward. Why am I enjoying it so much?

I nod for him to go ahead.

"What's your name?"

Damn. What is my name? "Calla," I answer after a moment.

He nods, and looks out towards the window. He's smiling. I can't hear him, but he's moving his lips, and I could have sworn they were making the shape of my name. I wish he would say it out loud. I bet he would make it sound better than I ever could.

"Calla... like the flower?"

He does. I'm caught off-guard by the flower part just a little, because what guy knows what a Calla Lily is? When I don't answer, he quickly back-pedals.

"Or not. I just-"

"No, no," I rush to say. "You're right. Like the flower-Calla Lily. I just didn't expect you to know that." I put my book on the table, right next to his hand, using that as an excuse to break eye contact for a couple of seconds. The things this boy is doing to my heartbeat are not quite normal.

"Yeah-my- well, my mom used to have a thing for flowers. She was a botanist. Our house looked like a jungle."

When I look up, I see a certain soft sadness in his eyes that wasn't there a minute ago. For some reason, I can relate. I can't help but wonder...

"You said 'used to'..." I try to ignore how nosy I sound. "What happened?"

The sadness in his eyes goes away. He takes the book and slides it so that it is in line with the corner of the table, then looks back at me. Sparks. "She remarried a couple years ago. Had twins. Doesn't really have time for anything else."

I look down. Nevermind. "Oh."

"What about yours?" He seems to sense that this is a sensitive subject, and when I look up there is a gentleness in his eyes that almost takes my breath away. For some reason, I feel tears stinging my eyes, and I abruptly cough and look away.

_She died._

I almost say it, too. I was so close. But, just in the knick of time I stop myself, and with good reason. It probably would have been quite the conversation killer. "The bell is about to ring," I say instead, blinking hard.

The spell breaks, and for the first time I am aware of what is going on around me. People are staring. Like actually _staring_, the little bastards, and whispering to their friends. Not only because a senior is talking to an underclassmen, but because the senior _Embry_ is talking to an underclassmen who doesn't own any pants that fit her.

He was leaning in to me, and abruptly straightens back up. I stand up as well, hands stuffed deep into my pockets. Jesus, he's huge. I come about to his neck. This is odd for me- I'm not used to being out-talled.

He twitches his hands as if he was going to run them through his hair again, but then he relaxes them by his side. We look each other in the eye. I find it quite impossible to look away.

"We should go," I finally choke out.

"Yeah." He nods, but makes no intention to move. His eyes are twitching down, and I get the feeling he wants to- I don't know, reach out to me or something. I force myself to turn around and collect my lunch bag. Do I say good-bye? See you later? Say nothing? What is the appropriate thing to do in this situation? Was he even going to remember my name tomorrow?

I end up just nodding to him as I take the first steps away, doing my best not to fall on my face. I'm not normally a clumsy person, but there are the small facts that his gaze has my knees turning to Jello and walking away from him feels plain... _wrong_.

"Wait," he calls after a couple seconds, attracting raised eyebrows from most of the people in the room. God, get a life. I turn around. He takes a step forward and holds out my book. "You forgot this."

I reach out and take the book, and as cheesy as it sounds, our hands brush. A jolt of warmth shoots up my arm, making me jump slightly. I press the fingers that he touched to my leg, trying to memorize the feeling.

Again, I almost say it. So close. _She's dead. My mom_. He just looks so open- expectant, like he wants to hear me talk.

Instead, I take the book, clench my teeth, and walk away as fast as I can. I can feel his gaze follow me out the door.

* * *

**Not much to say, other than that I love writing this story! Almost as much as I love chocolate soy milk. Although, I have now posted half of the chapters that were meant to last me through the end of the school year, so fitting in writing with exam schedule is going to be... well, interesting, to say the least. Wish me luck! **


	5. Her Name Is Calla

_Embry POV_

I didn't make it through the rest of the school day. As soon as her green-sweatered back disappeared from sight, I could start thinking again. And with thinking came doubt, anger, uncertainty, and the knowledge that if I did not get the hell out of the cafeteria somebody was probably going to die.

Everything was flooding into each other, becoming a big confusing mess of feelings that I really did not want to deal with. Most predominantly, though, was one terrifying thought:

_Well, Embry, that's it. Say good-bye to your life. You're going to date, get married, and have kids with that girl, and you're going to stay in this tiny town with her until the day you die. _

And- I mean- _shit!_ Allie had always blamed me of being a commitment phobic, and here my genes had pretty much just committed me to this girl for the rest of my life. And wasn't this just my genes talking? According to Sam, we had to match up genetically, just like all the other imprints. But at the same time, weren't all the imprints supposed to be your soulmate? Perfect for you, not just genetically, but personality-wise, too? I couldn't help but wonder what my soulmate was like. I supposed it didn't really matter. I was going to fall in love with her whether I liked it or not.

But at the same time... did I care? When I even allowed myself one brief flicker of a thought of _her_, of her face or her eyes or how her fingers, cluttered with thin, rope rings, had nervously run along the pages of her book, I _didn't_ care. Not at all. All I wanted-_needed_ was to be close to her, to get to know her better. Make her happy. Her image kept flashing before me like a strobe. There was a sharpness, a kind of aching in a part of my chest that hadn't been there ten minutes ago, and I knew it had to do with her.

And we had said, what? Twenty words? Two sentences to each other?

I was so fucking confused.

I realized that my hand, grasped onto the edge of the cafeteria table, was slowly splintering the cheap fake-wood. I was shaking. The initial impact was over, but the shock-waves kept coming even though she was gone- I could _feel _myself changing on the inside, my life and priorities rearranging themselves so that she was at the top of the list.

Calla.

People were staring at me in terror. I let go of the table, flexing my hand as splinters dropped to the ground. Everything burned. My skin felt like it should be red and cracking from the heat. I could feel my bones and muscles ache and scream as I struggled to keep human form, my vision was flickering between wolf and human, color and black-and-white, sounds popping in and out of focus.

It hadn't been this bad since the first time I phased.

I don't remember if I ran out of the cafeteria or tripped or crawled or whatever, but the next thing I knew I was at the forest's edge and exploding first out of my clothes and then my skin as I morphed.

It was quiet in my mind. Blessedly quiet, because I was having so much trouble dealing with my own thoughts right now, I didn't think I could handle anybody else's.

In some ways, everything is always easier when I'm a wolf. Things simplify, down to just the raw basis of thought. You're still aware of the things you knew as a human, still able to think at that thought process if you really concentrate, but usually most everything but the really important stuff just melts away.

Calla didn't melt away. Not in the least. As a wolf, the only thing I could feel was the coarse cord of attraction, my fate to hers.

If she knew what was going on right now, she would probably have me arrested. All the same, I actually had to stare at my paws for thirty seconds to work up the mental willpower to angle them away from the school, away from _her_, back towards the reservation.

And then, with each step feeling oddly like betrayal, I ran.

Usually, whether I was a wolf or human, I could run any kind of thought to the ground. Let it dissipate with the stretch and pull and burn of muscle, the rhythmic expanding and hissing of lungs. I desperately wanted not to think about anything, but I quickly realized that wasn't happening.

So I ran faster.

Past the reservation, past the river, drawing closer to the surrounding mountains. As a wolf, I never really got tired- and so I saw no need to stop. The wind hissed past my ears, drawn back, head low. My breathing grew ragged as I leapt up flights of rocks, claws grating against the bare face of the stone. Past evergreen trees with roots that were gnarled and branches that whipped my face and-

_Embry? Embry, what's wrong?_

Shit. Sam.

I fairly snapped back into human form, limbs folding up and compressing in on themselves, fur disappearing to bare skin with a slight _hiss_. I was on my knees on the ground, knuckles pressed into the pine-needle laden ground.

For a moment, all was quiet, save for the harsh sound of my breathing.

What was I _doing_? I knew that it was stupid to try to hide anything from Sam. Not only because it would be impossible in the long run, what with the whole-telepathy thing, but also because he was probably one of the few people who could help me right now.

But the whole reason I had started running was because I had not wanted to think. And the telepathy, well, it was just that. We could communicate through thoughts, but we could not read each other's minds unless we really tried- which, due to the fact that there were so many _happy couples_ running around, was something that we tried our best to avoid. That meant that I would have to run over the whole situation again in my mind.

And once Sam knew, then the whole pack would know within a matter of a couple of hours. And then all of the girlfriends would know, and that right there would be about half the town.

I was used to the non-existent levels of privacy, but for some reason it suddenly seemed to much to take. I felt oddly... _ possessive _of her. Was possessive the right word? No. That was actually crossing a line. It was just, even though thinking about the whole situation was giving me hell, it was like the conversation we had was a wonderful little secret. That there was this beautiful girl who nobody knew about but me. And I wanted to keep it that way.

I figured to hell with that attitude. She wasn't a secret, and if she was, she wouldn't be mine to keep.

I phased back, and before I could be assaulted with Sam's questions, briefly ran the whole situation over, keeping to the basics. I did not mention the party on Friday.

_Imprinted. School. Calla. _

I allowed him to see one flicker of the images I remembered of her, of how she looked sitting across the room. I did not let him to see her eyes, did not let him feel how they had grabbed me like a fish caught on a hook.

He was speechless for a few moments. I could tell where he was, in the forest on the outskirts of his backyard, on his way to the Cullens.

_Embry, I... Oh my God, Embry. Congratulations._

I could feel how much he meant it. How genuinely happy he was for me. He had taken on much of an 'older brother' figure in my case, and over the past months as he suffered through the whole mother-situation and the Allie-break-up with me, I could tell that he had often wished for me to imprint. In his mind, there was nothing bad about it. Easy for him to say- he had a kind, pretty, perfect wife in Emily. He came home everyday to a warm house and the smell of muffins, to a wife in a soft flowered apron, bulging at the stomach with the promise of a new life, five-months in coming.

Me? I lived in a fucking _shack_. In the middle of the forest. Never-mind that, more than anything I had ever wanted before, I just wanted to get out of this town. Strings tying me here, specifically one, iron-corded one named Calla, was the absolute _last _thing I wanted right now.

At least, that was what I had thought.

Before Sam could go any farther in his congratulations, I 'explained' everything to him. By this time, Colin had phased as well and was listening in on everything. I showed both of them where I was, how very much I wanted to be alone in my own mind right now. Should that be too much to ask?

I had learned long ago that, yes, apparently it was. _  
_

If Sam was in his human form, he would have sighed. Instead, I could tell he was pawing the ground.

_Embry. You shouldn't worry about that. You should be excited right now. You just _imprinted_. This should be the best day of your life. Speaking of which, your whole life is going to change-_

I bit at the air in frustration. _That's exactly why I'm so freaking confused, Sam. Because I don't my life to change! _At least, not like this.

_I know it's hard. Remember how all the other guys felt when they first imprinted? It _is _confusing. But it will get better, I promise. You know how I felt about Emily. I tried so hard to convince myself to forget about her- and you know how well that worked._

Meaning, it hadn't worked at all. If evidenced at all by the current bun in the oven.

Colin piped up. _Sam's right, dude. The beginning's the worse- I know exactly what you're feeling. 'Cause, like, you love her, but you don't know why. Right now it's only the genes pushing for the attraction- but just, like, start hanging out with her. And then you'll get to know her, and you'll be able to place all of those feelings. You'll know _why _you love her. _

Colin was a nice guy. I could feel the sympathy in his voice.

_We all went through the same thing,_ assured Sam. And it was mainly true. Except for when Seth imprinted, because he was already such an easy-going guy that nothing, even imprinting on a shy stutterer named Bailey, could phase him. And Paul didn't really have a problem, because Rachel is hot. And Jacob, who was so relieved-

Never mind.

_Why don't you come home, and phase back? _By 'come home,' I knew he meant Sam and Emily's house. I unwillingly obliged, knowing that I would have to face all of those people sooner or later.

But, for the time being, I still wanted to be alone. I phased back without bothering to offer an explanation to either of them, still slightly frustrated by that they still wanted to congratulate me like I had just won the freaking lottery or something. I picked up a run, using my heels to slide down the rocky face of the mountain.

I thought about what they had said. I thought about all of the other guys and their imprints. I tried to convince myself that they were all better off afterwards- and, really, it was true.

With two insanely over-protective parents placing the care of their angelic daughter in his hands, Jacob had matured. Brady had realized, at the age of fourteen after imprinting on a seven year-old whose only goal in life was to defy authority, that acting like a douchebag who was too cool for everything was not going to get him anywhere in life. Seth had- well, Seth was as happy as ever. Bailey had helped him get over the death of his dad, and now he was in college, which he probably would not have done otherwise.

I tried to accept that there was no going back now. I wondered what would happen to me.

It was dark before I reached Sam and Em's house. It was a yellow, ranch-style type of thing that Sam was re-doing in his free time. I myself liked it exactly like it was right now- the interior lights sending off a warm, yellow glow, the din of multiple voices and clanking silver-silverwear softly penetrating into the blanket of darkness that covered the forest. I don't think I had ever found a time when there wasn't at least two people in their house who was in on the wolf "secret."

I dragged on a pair of shorts, one of many in a water-proof box at the outskirts of the forest, helpfully provided by Emily. I walked up the creaky steps, into the screened-in door, which slammed shut behind me.

There were people scattered around the living room and connected dining room. Most heads turned to see who had come in. Paul was walking in from the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hand. "Oh, hi Emb-"

He stopped short. He must have seen something different in my face. Everybody must have, because they were all staring at me. Emily, who had seen this many times, had a slow smile spreading across her face.

All was silent. I took a deep breath and ran my hand through my hair. No going back now.

"Her name is Calla."


	6. The Keys To My Heart (Or His Car)

**So, yeah, I realize that the University of Washington is actually, like, three hours away from Forks... but let's ignore that, shall we? Awesome! **

I folded my hands on top of my dresser and rested my head on them, my eyes focused in front of me on the keys. His keys.

For only having had them for four days, I had spent an inordinate amount of time staring at them. One gold, one silver. They looked no different from any other house key I had ever seen. They were hooked onto a keychain made up from a badly-strung, multi-colored cord, like something a five-year old might have created. I couldn't help but wonder who had actually made it—he didn't seem like the type to braid friendship bracelets in his man-cave in his free-time, but then again, I didn't really know the guy.

It was 7:45 in the morning. I knew that I really should be getting to school, but I couldn't decide what to do about those damn keys.

Bringing them with me would be the best thing to do, right? Then I could just hand them to him, or leave them in his locker, which I knew the whereabouts of because I had seen more than one girl loitering nearby or sticking her thong through one of the metal slits. He would have his keys back, and that would be that.

But if I didn't, then what would happen? In this situation, strategy was the name of the game. He might ask where they were, I would feign innocence and claim that I had accidentally left them at home and would return them tomorrow. And then maybe the next day I would forget them too, and by the time I returned them I would have had three extra conversations.

Hypothetically speaking.

And yes, I realized how pathetic that was, but there was just something about him that intrigued me. Whenever I thought of how our eyes had connected, my stomach clenched. But not in an I'm-about-to-puke way, which happened the other night when I made the unfortunate decision to eat three carrot-cake cupcakes before going on a three-mile tempo run. No, it was in a way that made me feel oddly anxious yet… _warm_, and fizzy and scared, all at the same time.

I tried to ignore it.

And by the way, those were some _damn_ good cupcakes.

As the clock ticked to 7:50, I made up my mind, grabbing my backpack and grabbing a Red Bull before heading for the door.

I left his keys behind.

My father, as he did every morning, had already driven Josie to her little elementary school on his way to work at Washington University, so I said goodbye to an empty house. Apartment. Attic. Whatever you want to call it.

I briefly debated retrieving my bike from where it sat, propped up against our worn couch near the door, but decided I didn't feel like getting jabbed in the stomach with handlebars as I tried to guide it downstairs. Instead, I slammed the door shut and ran down the creaky, wooden steps, the walls on either side of me covered in old graffiti of sunflowers and womens' legs.

They led down to a quaint little bakery and coffee shop, cleverly named the Forks Coffee Shop. The drifts of fresh coffee and bread greeted me as I entered the brightly-lit little café, dodging my way around blue, diner-style vinyl seats. Most people here at seven in the morning were regulars to the shop, so they were quite used to my frantic dashes out the door every morning.

"Calla," greeted Paul, a bald fifty-something buy who owned a sport-fishing shop. "Running, as always," he added, winking and slurping on his coffee.

Lori, the plump and motherly owner of the shop, poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled cheerily at me. "Good morning, hon. Breakfast is on the counter. You wear a jacket, okay? It's rainin' cats and dogs out there."

"When is it not, Lori?" I laughed, grabbing the chocolate filled pastry that she had set out on the counter for me. "Thanks for the food," I called, waving the pastry in her general direction.

"Any time, hon."

After waiting for a group of tourists to enter, probably taking shelter while the stormy weather passed (good luck with that), I finally dashed out to the door. It was brightly lit with a blinking 'OPEN' sign.

"Shit," I muttered, immediately slamming the door back shut. Lori hadn't been kidding—there really was a deluge outside. Usually I could make do by running to school with a binder over my head and wet hair for the rest of the day, but if I tried doing that this time I would end up looking like a wet rat by the time I had gotten to school. Normally I would not give a single crap, but for some reason Embry popped up in my mind…

Any chance the guy had a thing for wet rats?

Probably not. I backpedaled and went through a door connecting from the coffee shop to the adjacent building, which was a florist. It was never locked, even though the shop didn't open until ten. I stepped on cut-off flower stems and discarded petals as I grabbed one of those clear plastic wraps that go on the outside of a bouquet, an oversized one that was probably made for weddings. I wrapped it around me, poncho-style.

Five years since we had moved here, and I still had not invested in a good raincoat.

Oh, well. This would have to work.

Minutes later, I was peeling off the dripping flower wrapper and trying my best to be inconspicuous about stuffing it into a nearby trashcan. My hair was still wet and sticking to my scalp, despite my best efforts, but at least my backpack was safe. God forbid anything happen to my twenty-year old math textbook.

I couldn't help but let my eyes scan over the crowd of students as I made my way inside. I hadn't paid this much attention to the students around me since- well, since two years ago, when mom died and everything went screwy. I caught the eye of a girl who used to be my friend, but she merely tightened her lips in what could be construed as a polite smile, and turned back to her pink-wrapping papered locker. I looked at my feet, embarrassed, and hurried to my locker, which was the equivalent on the inside of the chaos that came about in the aftermath of an earthquake.

Despite my best efforts, I did not see Embry.

We didn't have any classes together. It was odd, for a school so small, but I was in AP English and History, a Chemistry class that was only for juniors, Latin, French, and Algebra 1, which I actually failed sophomore year, and was now only managing to scrape by with a D+. I guessed that our schedules just didn't overlap.

Now that I was at school, I just wanted to get it over with. I had been thinking about this boy non-stop for the past _four days_, and even in sporadic, short-lived relationships with boys from the reservation (One smoked. One dropped out of high school. Needless to say, neither were my soulmate- and, it goes without saying, neither of them went to my school), I had never been this... this... Obsessesed?

I was sad to say that that was the right word for it. I wished that he would just ask me to give his goddamn keys back, and then go back to being an asshole like he was at the party, and I could stop thinking about him. Except for that my brilliant plan of leaving the keys at home was going to get in the way of that, a decision that I was highly regretting.

I did not see him all morning.

No sight of him at lunch, either- but that was because I had lunch detention for skipping class the previous week. It was fricking study hall, for God's sake. Half the kids smoked weed in the closet, and I got in trouble for hanging out at my house with my little sister, who was sick, because my dad couldn't get off from work? Apparently, yes.

The afternoon: nothing.

It was only until as the final bell was ringing that I caught my first sight of the day. He was waiting, alone, in the outskirts of the parking lot closest to school. The rest of his friends were playing basketball, using an empty trash can from the janitor's closet as a hoop. Usually he joined them, but apparently today was different.

He looked like he was waiting for someone. Probably his super-hot girlfriend. Probably that bitch Allie Whatsherface. I instantly mentally reprimanded myself for actually calling her that, but really there as no other word for her. She once told me in the locker room that if I wasn't a lesbian then I should save myself the trouble of dating and become one, because no guy would ever want a girl with Double As.

Well, you know what, Allie? The guy who smoked wanted one. So much so that he would grab my Double As at any chance he got, whether that be in my room, on the couch with my dad, or in plain view of the public eye. Come to think of it, so did that guy who dropped out of school and probably went and got drunk and died. So, _ha!_ Shows what you know.

And, you know, I could totally pull off a B-cup. It just depended on the brand of bra. And the brand of tissue paper.

I sighed, dragging my feet over the scuffed linoleum ground. He probably was actually waiting for his girlfriend, and I didn't want to just be awkwardly there trying to talk to him about his keys when she came up and they started having sex with their faces or something. I was suddenly very aware of what I was wearing- haring-bone leggings, rainboots, and a black Washington University sweatshirt. I usually chose my clothes based on comfort and the fact that I was always cold, rather than how sexual they looked, a fact that I was really regretting at the moment.

"Now or never," I muttered, pulling my shoulders back and walking towards him.

It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Twenty feet away, he turned around, his eyes scanning quickly over the bustling students in the hallway before locking in on me. Seriously. I could see the color of his eyes even from where I was standing, and I had even forgotten to put in contacts that morning. They froze me, locking my muscles in place. That feeling in my stomach again- anxious, but... warm. Safe.

Of course, our totally sweet across-the-hallway-eye-contact-moment was totally ruined when the kid walking directly behind me slammed into my back with the sharp corner of his books, having not realized that I had abruptly stopped, and we both went sprawling to the floor.

Sometime in between my head going from being six feet in the air to being on the ground, he appeared right in front of me. And then I just kind of laid there like an idiot while the kid who slammed into me said some not-so-complementary things about my mother, who's totally _dead_, by the way, so joke's on you. People were swarming around us and giving us dirty looks. My elbow throbbed from where it had hit the ground.

But Embry... Embry was right in front of me. And he was leaning over to pick up my books, and his eyes looked oddly frantic, with something akin to what I might have called worry, but that's totally stupid because we've only talked once.

I couldn't think of anything else to say, so instead I stated with ferocity out the once thing that came to mind.

"I have your keys."


	7. My Man the Toaster Oven

_"I have your keys." _

"You have my-" his eyes, tightened with confusion, met mine for a brief second. If I were some sexy heroine of a romance novel, I might have said that my heart stuttered or his brilliant gaze took my breath away, but in reality I really just started choking on my own spit and had to look away because I was coughing.

The confusion vanished as he gathered the rest of my dropped books in one arm. "Hold on. Let's get you up." He placed a warm, strong hand on my elbow and gently eased me up so that I was in a sitting position and no longer dying on my own saliva.

Wait. Holy _shit_. He was touching me. His hand was on my arm. His hot, calloused skin was placed upon the pale, tender skin of my upper arm-

God, get it _together_, Calla! Why did everything about this boy make me overreact? I wasn't usually like this. Smoking Boy _definitely _did not make me feel like this, albeit that might have been because on a scale of one to Embry, Embry being the hottest, Smoking Boy (his name was David, actually) would probably be, like, negative four. He was a hobbit compared to Embry.

And I'm not just talking about the biceps that were bulging underneath Embry's t-shirt. He was actually abnormally _hot_- as in, his skin kind of felt like a toaster oven.

I snatched my elbow back.

"Right- yeah, I was just- I was just getting up." His hand kind of hovered near my waist cautiously, as if he was expecting me to fall again. I found that rather offensive. "Thanks," I muttered, snatching my books back from his other hand and stuffing them into my open backpack. I was suddenly very aware that it was uncomfortably quiet in the hallway. And that everybody, and I mean _everybody_, was staring at us.

Great. Awesome. After two years, I had kind of started hoping that people might have forgotten what a pathetic loser I was, but by the stares I was getting right now, that apparently was not true.

Head down, I angled my body through a pair of boys chuckling disdainfully and walked as fast as I could to the exit.

"Hey, wait!" Embry called out after me. Whereas I had tried my best to politely slip past, he barged right through the two boys and left them stumbling to the side. Countless pairs of teenage eyes followed him, no doubt recording every bit so that they could carefully file it away in the 'gossip' cabinet for further usage. God, this was juicy: hot, popular kid, chasing after the school's six-foot tall freak. How romantic. Not.

My strides were long, if evidenced any by the fact that there was not a pair of pants in the whole entire fricking state of Washington that went below my ankles, but his were longer. People parted like the Red Sea as he caught up, laughing slightly.

"Hey, hold up. Where are you-"

"_Sssh_," I hissed. "Do yourself a favor and wait 'till we're outside."

His eyebrows lifted in confusion, probably mentally reprimanding himself for following this weird chick. But he kept stride with me, even holding the door open before I could get to the handle, which is just _so _1950s but I had to walk through anyways because otherwise I would have just been standing there making an awkward situation even worse.

"What was that all about?" He asked as soon as we exited. The people out here obviously had not witnessed the whole hallway-incident, so there was only minor stare-age. I took a relieved breath.

"I'm sorry," I immediately apologized. Because, really, I was-sorry that he had to see that. "They were staring."

"Who?" He asked, as if he honestly hadn't noticed.

"Everybody!"

He shrugged his broad shoulders, his arm slightly brushing mine. "I don't care what they think." He was walking just a _bit _too close, considered that we could barely even be considered acquaintances. I could feel the heat emanating off of him. I walked faster.

"Okay, well, I do."

"Really?" I could feel his eyes searching the side of my face. I walked even faster across the parking lot. I was practically jogging.

"Yeah. You sound so surprised."

He shrugged again. "I just didn't think you were the kind of person who would care about that. Are we being chased?"

"What?"

"You're walking faster than the average person could sprint."

_Well, you seem to keeping up just fine_, I wanted to add. I didn't. Instead, I abruptly stopped, turning to face him.

"Okay, listen," I pointed a finger at his chest accusingly, pent-up frustration about the whole situation starting to well up. I wasn't even too distracted by the fact that if I had moved my finger forward five inches, I would be touching what were probably some wicked pecs. "First off, you _do not know me_. Therefor, you have no idea what kind of person I am, and I do not appreciate you making vague assumptions about what I do and do not care about." Wow. I wasn't quite expecting that to come out. "Second-" I couldn't think of a second. His eyes were too green.

He was also fighting a smile with those lips that I would _kill _to have pressed to my neck, his hot hands-

Aw, shut up, Calla.

"You know what? Nevermind. I have your keys," I finally remembered to say.

"Right, keys," he said, still smiling. He looked pointedly at my finger for a moment before enfolding my hand in the shell of his large one, pushing my finger down. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

My heart bouncing around wildly in my throat, I clenched my fist inside of his and desperately pulled it away before tucking it safely beneath the strap of my backpack. His hand grasped at the air for a moment and he looked oddly wounded, but then slid it back into the pocket of his jeans, a smirk returning to his face.

"Your keys," I insisted. "The one that I stole from you when you _assualted me_ the other night, at the party."

"Oh, come on." He said it sarcastically, but there was something in the set of his mouth that made me wonder if he was actually worried that he had hurt me or something. "I did not _assault_-"

"Well, you puked on me, which I think warrants at least a restraining order. Anyways: _keys_," I added forcefully, trying to keep on track. The weather had submitted itself to a misty drizzle, but all the same, I had to get home. Josie was waiting. I wanted to go running.

"Right, you took my keys. What the hell were you hoping to accomplish by doing that?" His eyes were moving over my face in a way that felt like he was mapping out my features, his eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes, from my nose back to my eyes, from my hair to my eyes...

It was incredibly disorientating.

"I don't know," I snapped, starting to walk again. Once again, the little (big) bugger kept right up. "I was going to poke out your eyes or something if you tried to hurt me."

He snorts. "Wow, great idea. That wouldn't have done shit. Remind me to teach you real self-defense sometime."

"Do you want your damn keys back or not?"

"My-" I could see his face spring into realization, and all of a sudden the relaxed, cocky smile on his face tensed. "Wait-_crap_. Yeah. I actually really need those. Do you have them?"

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

"Um- well, they- I think I actually forgot them at home," I stuttered, my face flaming what I was sure was an unflattering shade of red. By the way he was looking at me, I was sure that he was seeing right through my lie.

"Okay, well, where's your house?"

"Can I just give them to you tomorrow?" I asked, regaining some composure.

"No. I need them now."

"Well, buddy, you're gonna have to wait."

"No-you don't understand," he said, taking a quick step so that he was in front of me and I had to nearly slide on my heel to stop from face-planting onto that glorious chest of his. "I need them now. As in, in ten minutes, if I don't have them, some people are going to be extremely pissed."

I squirmed, wanting to keep walking. I did not like the direction this conversation was going. "Okay, well... my house is like, seven minutes and a half minutes that way," I nodded down the direction we were walking.

His cocky grin returned, though with less force. I wanted to wipe it off his face.

Screw that. I wanted to _kiss _it off-

"Seven and a half? Could you bet on it?"

I ignored him. "So you can wait here, I guess, and I'll run and get them."

"That'll take too long. The place I have to be is down there, too. I'll come with you."

"No, really," I said, laughing nervously. This was _really _going in a direction I didn't like. "I'll literally, like, run. I'll be back in five minutes. Just wait here."

"What happened to seven and a half?" He asked, starting to walk anyways.

"No, wait, please..."

I don't know what it was. Maybe it was because we lived in an 800 square foot "apartment" that was really just the the conjoined attic over a cafe and a flower shop. Maybe it was that I still did not really know this boy but he did funny things to my stomach and bringing him to my house would just take things to a whole new level...

"You are aware that if anybody sees you walking with me, your social life will forever be ruined," I prompted, deciding to take a different approach. I had to jog slightly to catch up with him, my backpack bouncing along on my back.

He looked back at me with his eyebrows raised. "I already told you. I don't care what they think."

"Even your friends?"

"Yeah."

"Well. That sounds like a great basis for a relationship."

He shrugged. "I guess not. Sometimes I wish I could find a way to just make them... leave me the hell alone, you know?"

Well, let's see... You could have your mother die, miss school for two months, then come back without having had a shower in three weeks, face a disgusting mess of acne and badly-applied make-up, and then not to talk to anybody and run out of class every thirty minutes to sob in the bathroom.

At least, that worked for me.

But I didn't say that. It kind of pissed me off, really, that he was all on his high-horse complaining about his friends, while I knew that he would just be a desperate wannabe like all the others if they weren't drooling at his heels all day.

"So... why, exactly, do you need these keys so bad?" I decided to switch the subject, in part because I really was wondering, and I realized that it would be futile try to stop him now. We were halfway there, anyway, only about a quarter more along the highway, the lush green leaves dripping freezing droplets onto the back of my neck.

He ran his hand through his hair. "Long story."

There were a couple of moments of silence, enough for a couple cars to pass on my right side. "Well," I prompted, "Are you going to tell me, or not? Or we could just walk in silence. That's cool. But I've run out of conversation topics."

He smirked and gave me a side-long glance, his eyes lingering just long enough to make my cheeks turn red.

"Another time," he finally said.

"You mean you're actually going to talk to me, even after you get your keys back?"

He laughed at me. I immediately regretted voicing the question, though I was dying to know. "Do you want me to?" He asked, nudging my shoulder with his. There went my heart again, beating up a completely unneeded kerfluffle.

Crap.

Did I want him to keep talking to me?

The answer was no, I did not. I assured myself that that the panicked feeling in my stomach that said otherwise was probably just the good ol' ovaries acting up, screeching at my brain to have children with this man.

"Well- I mean- if- Oh, look at that. Here's the path to my house." Just in the nick of time, too. I ducked my head down under the green foliage before he could prompt me further to answer the question. We were essentially bush-wacking through somebody's backyard, a hike that I did nearly every day to save time going to and from school, and what with all of the wet branches smacking me in the face it was hard to keep up a conversation. Thank God.

I could've sworn, too, that he moved completely silently through the undergrowth- maybe it was just that I was so inept and loud, but it seemed like the dude was a freaking Native American _ninja_. I had to look over my shoulder every ten seconds in the beginning to make sure that he hadn't fallen over and died and I hadn't noticed, which inevitably lead to an uncomfortable meeting of our eyes while his smoldered and I whipped my head to face forward again, usually to be poked in the eyes by a wet, leafy branch.

He even asked if I wanted him to go first. Not once, but three times, and this was just a five minute walk. Such a freaking gentlemen. I declined as rudely as I could each time, just to show him that I didn't need help.

He just smirked.

Needless to say, I was thoroughly relieved when we finally popped out of the woods, skirted the sketchy backside of some bar, and finally reached my street.

Where my house was. Where Josie was. Where my room was, along with all of my Double A bras, in which he was supposedly going to be going. My house, I mean, not the bras. I wish.

This should be interesting.


	8. You're Cute When You're Angry

**Hi, all! Ok, so this chapter has kind of an abrupt ending because I had to cut it in half because it got so long. The first day of final exams are tomorrow, which is obviously why I am wasting time writing this story. Enjoy! :D **

_Embry POV_

Last night had been... torture.

It wasn't so much that I was worried about her, because I knew that was stupid. She had gone through sixteen or seventeen or whatever years worth of nights without me and had been perfectly fine. Better than fine, I hoped. Just because I had gone and imprinted on her did not change anything about her life, did not mean that some rogue vampire we didn't know about would come and randomly attack her, an idea that Brady had put into my mind ("Boy, wouldn't that suck if on the first say you met her...") and would not go away.

It was just that I had gotten one little... one little taste of her. Ten minutes, if not less. And then I had to leave her. Go back to Sam and Emily's house, answer the delighted questions from Kim and Georgia, Colin's fifteen year old imprint, posed in the high, squealing voices of excitement girls have specifically reserved only for moments of extreme excitement. _  
_

_"How old is she?"_

_"Um, like, my age."_

_"Is she Quileute?"_

_"I don't think-"_

_"How long has she been living here? Do we know her? Does she live close by?"_

_"Guys, I just met her today-"_

_"What does she look like?"_

_"I don't know, like, tall, and.. well, thin, I think. She was kind of wearing a hat so I couldn't tell what color hair-"_

_"How do you _not _know what color _hair _she has?!"_

The point was: even when I wasn't getting questioned, she was still running through my mind. I hoped it was the same when normal people met their "Miss Right," as Rachel called it. The way her eyes, blue-green and shining, had blinked up at me those first few moments. The way she had nervously pursed her pink lips, not meeting my eyes. I couldn't help but imagine how she would fit into my life.

Assuming, of course, that she didn't say to hell with me and move to Arizona or something, which would _seriously _blow.

I didn't sleep all night. I felt restless, couldn't get comfortable, couldn't stop thinking, wondering, guessing. I knew it would be better when I knew more about her. Where she spent her nights, whether she liked to study or party. Whether or not there was another boy involved in her life, specifically, was a question that I swore was going to make me go insane. Of course, it wasn't as if I would have any more right to her than _he _did, I tried to tell myself-but just the fact that I didn't know...

And then I hadn't seen her all day, not even at lunch, when Jordan and Chase had asked several times if I was stoned because I was so out of it. At the end of the day I was standing at the exit to the school, seriously contemplating what my options were if she didn't show.

Basically, my two options were to either comb through the town in search of her with my car, or to go home, alone, and go crazy.

And then, miracle of miracles, she showed.

It was almost like that first night, the night at the party. Where she just seemed to appear out of nowhere, long legs and pale, flashing skin, focusing all of the light in the building so that I could not see anything but her. And our eyes locked. And I could breathe again and unclench my fists and stop worrying and know that everything was going to be okay. Like the weight of the world had been taken off of me.

And then, of course, she had fallen, and it would have been kind of funny had I not been worried that she had actually managed to hurt herself, because she had come down pretty hard and the guy who bumped into her was cussing her out, something that I figured I would have to take care of later.

I remember how her skin felt against my fingers.

"I have your keys," she had blurted out, as if it was the most important thing in the world.

And thus had started our conversation, which eventually lead to me standing outside of her house. I had decided to save the whole explanation of why I needed the keys back for later-there was still so much I wanted to know about her, I didn't want to turn it back to me. I had learned some things, though: she had no problem with cussing. She was sarcastic, and had quite a temper when she wanted. She did not like it when I touched her, and did not want my help.

In short, her tough, up-front attitude was the complete opposite of her image, which to me still looked like a flower. Delicate. It was a clash of personality and physicality that I found... Well, that I found pretty fucking awesome.

"So, um, it's not much," she said, nervously wringing her hands around the wooden, mug-shaped handle of the Forks Coffee Shop.

"You live here?" I asked, peering up at the second story of the building.

"Like, _really _not much."

"I thought it was only shops. That's cool."

"Like, probably on the smaller side of _small_-"

"Calla," I finally said, liking the way it sounded. I wanted to put my hand on her cheek to make my point, but decided against it and instead pressed it against the glass, effectively trapping her between me and the door, pushing it open slightly. She looked slightly alarmed and tried to back up, but I decided not to remove my arm. I could hear her heart beat get faster. She seemed like the type to tell me if she was ever afraid, and if it wasn't fear making her heart do that...

"If you knew what I lived in, you would not be talking."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she grumbled, abruptly ducking under my arm and pushing her way into the building, leaving me to sigh and follow her in, where a women who looked to be in her fifties with generous hips encircled in a red apron greeted us.

"Hey, hon-oh! Who's this?"

"Hi, Lori," she greeted, eyeing me warily for reasons I couldn't fathom. Lori 'subtly' bumped her hip into Calla's, eyeing me and then whispering something in Calla's ear. Calla clenched her fists and gave Lori an exasperated look before turning back to me.

"Embry, this is Lori," she introduced, sounding as though she was talking through gritted teeth. "Lori, this is my-" she stopped for a moment with her mouth open, her eyes darting nervously around the quaint little diner, at anywhere but me. "My classma- I mean, we- this is my-my _friend_," she finally choked out. "Embry."

I shook Lori's eager hand, my eyes sliding to Calla's face, which I could have sworn was redder than usual under all of the badly-matched make-up. I couldn't help but smile, and when our eyes met, she scowled.

Lori offered us food, a plate of cookies, and Calla took four- a welcome change from the girls I had dated in the past, who would have rather shot themselves up the roof of their mouth then ruin their diets.

"All right," she said, breaking a cookie in half and stuffing both pieces in her mouth. She held up a finger while she chewed, then held up a hand, gesturing for me to stay where I was. "You wait here and behave yourself, and I'll go get your keys."

"You mean I came all the way here and I don't even get to see your house?"

"It was only seven minutes," she said, rolling her eyes and turning towards a door in the back of the cafe.

"And a half."

"And a fucking half," she growled back at me. "Seriously, wait here, I'll be right back."

Well, now, that wouldn't do. I wanted to see what was above this little shop, where she spent her time. Plus, there was the added fact that I had noticed whenever she was angry with me she would suck in her lower lip in an angry pout that absolutely freaking adorable...

I took a moment to watch her form the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing a sweatshirt, which frustrated me to no end, but she was also wearing leggings. And, Christ, those legs...

I shook my head and brushed past her, making sure my shoulder bumped hers, and vaulted up the steps three at a time, reaching the door before she did.

"Hey, wha- Embry!" I could hear a slur of curses as she jogged of the steps behind me. "Please! It- it's my sister, okay? She's young, and she doesn't really like strangers-"

So she had a sister...

"Well, I'm going to have to meet her sometime. After all, we are _friends_," I threw back at her, winking to her face of shocked anger, then opened the door.

Her house was...

Well. Messy.

But in a nice, kind of orderly way.

The room I had just walked into seemed to comprise of the living room, dining room, and kitchen, all smushed together. There were three bikes, one a miniature with pink streamers-her sister's, I assumed-leaning on the wall next to the door. There was an old plaid couch with a mixture of bright pillows that in no way matched, and a dusty TV on top of a stack of encyclopedias. The kitchen looked oddly unused- no food out on the counter or towels hanging on handles, but it was still made up prettily with vases of bright flowers. There were flowers everywhere, actually- dried petals on the floor, in vases everywhere, coloring the walls in beautiful, soft-stroked pastel watercolor paintings. The dining table looked to be patio-style, made out of wrought-iron, and was so covered in pieces of old-looking thick paper, magnifying glasses, and prints that it was hard to see the surface.

"Wow," I murmurered.

Finally reaching the top of the stairs, Calla turned to face me, her hands on her hips and a fiery expression on her face.

"Are you going to give me a tour?" I asked, holding back a smile.

"I am most certainly _not _going to give you a tour. In fact, the only thing I _am _going to do is to ask you why the hell you think it's okay to go _waltzing _into people's houses like you own the place and-"

"Has anybody ever told you you're cute when you're angry?" She was, with her flaming cheeks and face that looked too soft to be mad.

She stared at me with her mouth open.

"Calla?" From the inside of a hallway next to the kitchen came a small, high voice, interrupting whatever Calla was about to say when she finally closed her mouth, murder in her eyes.

Her head jerked to the side, the short, the blonde hair sticking out of her hat fluttering. She looked between me and the voice, a crease forming between her eyebrows, her expression quickly changing to one of anxiety. I was immediately on guard.

"What's-"

She put a finger up to her lips and closed her eyes, taking one short, quick breath before going to the hallway. "Josie? Sweetie?"

When she returned, she was holding the hand of a young girl, about six or seven years old.

Josie, as I had found her name was, looked horribly fragile. She had the same skinny, long build as Calla, and the same almost-white hair, though she also had bangs and it was just long enough to brush her shoulders in wisps of knotted waves. She was shorter than Calla by a good three feet, and though she had a spray of caramel freckles on the pale skin of her face, their features were remarkably similar. Her legs were bony and too long for her body from where they stuck out form a pink sparkly tutu, her top a grey sweater, the sleeves of which dragged on the ground-obviously Calla's.

As soon as she caught sight of me her eyes grew wide, and she ducked behind Calla's legs, hiding her face.

"Josie, honey, this is Embry. He's my friend." She threw me a glare. I was still looking at the tiny figure hidden behind Calla's legs, and didn't dare make a joke. "I have something of his that he lost. Do you want to come with me to find it?" Calla looked over her shoulder to Josie, who was now peering around her leg with one big eye, sizing me up with a gaze that looked far too old for the skinny body that held it.

"Josie? I'm going to the bedroom, Embry's going to stay here..." Calla started backing up, expecting Josie to come with her, but she instead stayed rooted in place. Calla looked frantically from me to the little girl, made some fluttering motions with her hands, then jogged out of the room. "I'll be right back! I promise!"


	9. A Tutu and A Dog

Josie stood in front of me, stock still, hands pressed deeply into the folds of her tutu.

She reminded me of the Ellie. Ellie, the child my mother had with the man she had met and moved in with after she had kicked me out. The person I was actually supposed to be baby-sitting right now, the house of which those keys belonged to, those keys which pretty much symbolized the shaky relationship I had with my mother at the moment.

Little boys were great. Ellie was a twin- Noah, her identical brother, was a bunch of fun, if you didn't mind somebody climbing on you 24/7. All you had to do was take out a truck, make some crashing noises, and he would be satisfied for hours of roudy play. Ellie, though... stroking her ladybug doll's hair with tiny, careful fingers, drawing pictures of me and her holding hands, the girl who sobbed for an hour when she found a baby bird dead on our porch.

I guess you could say I had a soft spot for little girls.

Plus, Josie looked so much like Calla. I wondered if she had looked this fragile when she was younger.

I knelt down, so that I was closer to her height. "Hi, honey."

Josie stared with wide eyes.

"I promise I'll be gone in just a minute. I just lost some keys- silly of me, right? You're sister's returning them to me. She's very kind." Josie's lips twitched up. "I like your tutu. It's very pretty."

Josie cocked her head to one side, and in a voice so tiny I could barely hear it, said, "You think so?"

"Absolutely," I said, smiling. "I wish I had one."

She giggled now, a soft, tiny bell.

"How old are you?"

"Five," she near-whispered, after a moment's hesitation. "And two weeks," she added, cocking her head to the other side, never taking her eyes off of me. She had a precise way or talking, clear and articulate, that seemed just a bit too old for only five and two weeks. Maybe it's just that she looked so small, small and young, with her tutu falling off of skinny hips.

"Really? That means that you had a birthday not a while ago, right?" She nodded. "Did you have a party?"

She looks down at the ground, swinging her body back and forth. She looks sad. "No. Just Calla. And Daddy."

The sadness.

I notice it now, make a connection. Both Calla and Josie looked alike in a way that I could not originally place-not only in the lips and the build, the nose and the skin...but also in their eyes. Big and blue and sad. I saw it in Calla, that first day in the cafeteria when I mentioned her mother, but it's easier to place when I see it now, raw and aching, on Josie's young face. Calla is more guarded-but it is still their, dripping beneath all of that make-up

Both of their eyes look too old for their body.

Josie looks like she is going to cry. I quickly change the subject.

"Did you get any presents?"

I am rewarded with an unexpected, abrupt twinkle of her eyes as she looks shyly up back at me. Perfect question.

"Yeah. Daddy gave me Finding Nemo, but I can't watch the first part because it is too scary. And Calla gave me a puppy. I asked for a real live one, but Calla said that she couldn't, so I got a drawing of one."

"Calla-really?" I'm surprised by this. Looking around the walls of the house, I shouldn't be-it's practically an art museum, though I've no idea if it's hers. Josie follows my eyes to the paintings, and then abruptly grabs my hand with her small one, tiny, warm fingers pressing into my skin.

"Those aren't Callas'. Those are mommas- of all the flowers. She liked flowers. They liked her, too. Do you want to see the puppy?" I barely have time to raise my eyebrows at the odd way she just talked- because she was already pulling on my hand, tugging me, albeit with about as much force as a hummingbird, towards the hallway. I wouldn't have been able to resist her anyway- or her offer, to see Calla's work. She checks behind her shoulder several time, checking to see I'm still following, though she's still holding onto my hand. She keeps the other arm pressed protectively against her chest.

She leads me to a door-less room that I have to bow my head to stand up in. It is separated down the middle by a bed-sheet hanging on a cord, stopping me from seeing the other half of the room, which I'm assuming is Calla's.

But that must mean... This is Josie's bedroom?

The walls are painted purple. There is a stack of books on the floor-Magic Treehouse, Dirty Harry, Angelina Ballerina. But other than that, you could barely tell that the room was even in usage. No carpet, no curtains, no fingerpaintings or dolls scattered everywhere like in Ellie's room. Just a twin bed with a couple of sheets, a single stuffed dog, an open window, and a small dresser.

And, I realize as Josie pulls something out from behind her bed, a painting of a dog.

Calla appears from behind the bed sheet, pushing it aside just enough for her to swing through. She notices Josie. "Hey, Jose. What're you-" She apparently does not notice me, because she is interrupted when she slams face-first into my chest. I automatically reach for her, taking hold of her forearms to stop her from falling back into the dresser.

She freezes, and our eyes meet. She's looking up. I can see the soft, pale skin exposed at her jawline. She's closer than she's ever been, and my hands are still on her arms, and I can hear her heart stutter.

She smells like flowers.

I want to kiss her.

The wind blows in through the open window in a chilling gust, and she seems to snap right out of whatever reverie she was in to allow me to be so close to her. I let go before she can jerk her arms away, something she seems in a habit of doing which I'd really prefer she didn't.

"The hell, Embry. Did I _not _tell you to-"

"Look," says Josie, a couple feet below us, interrupting whatever accusation Calla was about to make. Josie is holding Calla's painting, and as Calla notices I can see her eyes widen. She looks like she is going to snatch the painting out of Josie's hands, but thinks better of it, and instead puts herself between me and Josie.

"Why don't you put that back, okay? Embry-"

"No. I want Embry to see." She, unlike Ellie, can pronounce my name.

Calla looks desperately between the two of us, before finally letting Josie slip past. "See?" Josie says to me, holding the painting up as far as she can reach. "My puppy."

I stare at it for a moment, feeling Calla's anxious eyes on my face. For a couple seconds, I honestly am at a loss for words.

A puppy. The subject of the painting-drawing, really, it looks like. Though it's so realistic that it's hard to believe that it didn't come right out of a camera or magazine- only the tell-tale softness of the edges and some lead smudge lines give it away. It's rolling, belly-up, on a bed. The happy folds in it's open mouth, the fur pressed to the bed, the shadows cast upon it by a window in the corner of the drawing- everything is so precise that it looks like the puppy could come rolling right out of the picture.

But that's not even all. The quilt on the bed isn't drawn- it's instead made up of what looks like hundreds of miniscule pieces of fabric, less than a square centimeter, sewed on with a single stitch to the paper. The scene outside the window, of a tree and clouds, made up thousands of the tiniest painted dots- some famous artist did that too, though I couldn't tell you who it was. The walls, made of-Sequins? Broken beads? Put in precise lines that add texture denoting a plaster wall. And yet, the detail of the background somehow doesn't take away from the subject, the dog- which still shines as the happy center of the piece.

A drawer. Calla is an artist.

"This is- oh my God, this is _amazing_."

"No it's not," she mumbles, sheparding Josie to put her painting back once I'm able to tear my eyes away.

"Calla-" I say, almost laughing at her absurdity. "Don't even try. That's probably the most amazing thing-"

"I used a picture."

"So? So did DaVinci."

"If you're talking about the Mona Lisa, that was most definitely a _model, _not a picture, which if you'll recall makes sense because cameras weren't invented for a good couple hundred of years-"

"You know what I meant. If you gave _me _a picture of a dog and I tried to draw that, it would come out looking like some kind of-of-"

"Demented cow? That's what the first couple of drafts looked like. And anyways, that's probably just because you suck at everything, including drawing."

I decided to ignore that broad statement, though I would have to get her back later. Right now, though, a very exciting thought has crossed my mind. I suppose you could say that I was jealous of Josie, though that sounds weird. I was more jealous of the painting. She must have pored her heart into it. A labor of love. "Will you draw me something?"

She stared at me for a moment, blue eyes briefly unguarded. I want to put my hand at her waist, entwine our fingers, get closer, do _something_. Instead, I grit my teeth.

"Draw you something?" She asks. "Like what?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "Anything. Another dog. I don't care." Another dog- how appropriate, given my second nature...

She regards me for another moment, before abruptly turning her head away, seeming to remember that there's something in her hand, and throwing it at my chest. I catch it-my keys, I see- and seconds later mentally wince, knowing that a normal human wouldn't have been able to. She doesn't seem to notice.

"What? No. I'm not going to freaking _draw something _for-no way. There's your keys. Get out of my house."

I heave a sigh. Until she had mentioned it, I hadn't even though about leaving- but now, with the smell of Calla blanketing my clothes and the tantalizing hint of the life that she lives lingering in my brain, I realize that I am going to be in for a _long_ night. "You're bipolar, you know that?"

"Out. Get out. Get out, get out, get out."

"You have a lovely house."

"I'll kick your butt."

"It's been great seeing you."

"Embry, I swear to God-"

"Leaving, leaving," I say, chuckling as she corrals me out the door.

I don't want to leave. The last thing I want to do is leave. She stops by the open door, seeming abruptly shy as she looks down and draws some sort of pattern in the carpet with her foot.

I stop with one foot on the steps, facing her. She is still looking down.

"Calla?" I ask softly. When she doesn't answer I use a finger against her chin to gently tap her head up, which she does immediately. I can see her blush. My hands itch to return back to her face- graze my knuckles against her cheek, feel the soft skin there, but I just touched her and she hasn't started cussing me out, so I decide not to push my luck.

Though I cannot tell you how hard it is, especially when she's looking so vulnerable- eyes wide and shining, mouth slightly parted.

Funny thing is, I never noticed these things in any other girl.

"See you tomorrow?" It's a question, and more loaded than she could possibly know. If she said yes, then we were on the start of something. If she said no...

She smiles, just a tiny lifting of her lips- but a real smile. Maybe the first one I've seen so far.

"Yeah. See you."

My chest fills with warmth.


	10. Cracking the Shell That Is Embry

**That last chapter with Josie was one of my favorites...And guess what? I am now officially out of school, so I can now write the whole entire day and not worry about people judging me. These next few chapters were written out of order, so if it's a little confusing emotionally or something, that would be why... I'm not sure if I say this in the chapter, but it takes place a day or two after the last chapter. Thanks for reading, reader friends! Read on! **

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I shoved the rest of the books that I did not need back into my locker, slamming the metal door shut with a _clang_ before they could fall back out. Moments later I turned around, only to be stopped immediately by the sight of Embry's broad, capable expanse of a chest, covered in a snugly fitting black tee-shirt.

All I can say is that they don't call him Embry 'Pectorals' Call for nothing.

For a moment I savored the delicious little spark that leaped from my heart to my throat, the swelling in my chest like a balloon about to pop. I was suddenly more aware of my body, self-concious under his gaze. Looking in the mirror that morning at what Cosmo called a 'boyish figure' but what I called complete bullshit, the only asset I could see where my legs. Viewed from a certain angle they could look a bit manly, what with all of the quad and calf-muscle action going on (it's all those damn hills), but I figured the tights would cover those up. Thick, black tights, jeans shorts, lace-up boots, and a tucked in flannel. Dressing in the mornings was a struggle, my thought process being along the lines of: _You know, I should probably attempt to wear something cute today, but the problem is that I don't give a single shit..._

All things considered, I had spent so much effort on this outfit, I ought to be going to a freaking wedding.

It apparently paid off, because Embry's eyes raked down and back up again in a way that made me blush, even though that was the exact reaction I was had been going for. The corner of his lips lifted in a tiny smile, and his eyes settled on mine like a warm, wool blanket.

But not the scratchy kind. The sexually alluring kind.

Dang, ignore that metaphor.

Anyways, our eyes met-and not for the first time that day.

During lunch, I had caught sight of him just as I was trying to find a place to sit, in my hand a bagged lunch of Red Bull, carrots, and Goldfish. He had taken a step towards me, but I frantically widened my eyes and looked pointedly at his usual place near Chase and Jordan and their posse. I already knew his supposed opinion regarding what other people thought about him due to yesterday, but I still wasn't fully on board of the "to hell with our supposed social lives" boat. Basically, I did not want staring, I did not want rumors, and I did not want Embry to know how embarrassingly small my friend group was.

He rolled his eyes a little, and took another step towards me. I stomped my foot a little, initiating some weird stares from the people around me, and once again looked pointedly at the table where he usually sat. When he kept advancing across the lunch room, I sat down determinedly in the only vacant seat at a table with a group of sophomores I had never seen before in my life. He raised his eyebrows at me from across the room, like, "You honestly think that's going to stop me?" But I gritted my teeth and glared at him, and he eventually slowly walked back to Chase, who was staring at me with a gaze akin to how one might stare at a pair of mating walruses or something.

Mission accomplished. Even though I had to sit with the sophomores for the rest of the period, wishing that I was instead sitting with Embry even though I had gone to such great lengths to avoid just that. You see what this boy was doing to me? I was turning bipolar.

If he was in any way offended by our previous reaction, though, he didn't show it.

"Hey," he greeted, seemingly not even trying to cover up the fact that his eyes kept darting to my legs.

"Hey," I answered, biting my lip to keep from beaming. I curled my toes inside of my shoes, loving and hating the way his gaze made my skin hot. I took a deep breath. "So," I stated. "Yesterday."

"Yeah?" He asked, eyebrows raising.

_Do you actually really like me, or was that just to get your keys? Can you walk me home again? Why didn't you notice me before? I really want to hate you because it would make things so much easier, but I don't think I can._

"You never explained why you needed your keys so bad."

He sighed, resting an elbow against a nearby locker and leaning on it briefly, not meeting my eyes. After a handful of seconds without speaking I started to wonder whether or not he would answer.

"Calla?" He finally asked.

"Embry?"

"Why were you so worried about me meeting Josie?"

I had been expecting some kind of amazing and touching revelation, so his question left me reeling. "Um, okay, blatant subject change on me, that's cool-"

"Are you walking home again?"

I stared at him for another moment, his dark green eyes probing. "What? Can we please stay on one topic?"

He apparently took that as an affirmative, because he started walking out the school doors, absently slipping his hand through the strap of my backpack which I had been holding in front of me with both hands, swinging it easily on his shoulder before I could protest.

"I'll walk you home. If you tell me about Josie, I'll tell you about me."

"Okay..." I agreed reluctantly, hurrying to keep up with him. A basketball somebody had thrown came bouncing towards us, and he caught it easily in one hand, the muscles in his arms stretching as he threw it across the distance of the parking lot as easily as if it were a bouncy ball. I took another deep breath.

"It's not a big deal, really. It's just, the last time I introduced her to my boyfriend-I mean, the last time I introduced her to somebody, it _was _my boyfriend," I quickly corrected, my face heating up. Embry's eyes slid over to mine. I couldn't tell whether or not he was smiling. "Anyways, when I did, she kind of hid in one of the kitchen cabinets. And cried."

There was more to the story. 'More' meaning that there was also the tiny fact that the reason my little sister said she had cried was because he was, in her words, 'a bad boy.' When asked why she thought this, she said it was because Momma had told her.

Right. Honey, Momma's been dead for two years.

It wasn't the first time that she had claimed that our dead mother talked to her. I decided to keep this to myself.

"Geez," he said incredulously. "What kind of guys do you _date_?"

"He wasn't _that _bad. He smoked and wore dirty wifebeaters, but-"

"He wore _what_?"

"Wifebeaters. You know, like the kind of tank top."

"Oh, right. Okay. I thought you meant he wore gloves or something and was beating you with them."

I couldn't help but crack a smile. "You're an idiot," I said looking over at him. Our eyes met, and he smiled.

I noticed that he didn't do a lot of smiling. He did a lot of smirking, a lot of casually-lifting-of-the-lips-in-a-teasing-manner, but not a lot of _real _smiling. He had a wonderful smile, I noted to myself. It made him look like he was in the middle of a laugh, and did unexpected things to his face. Like making him look happy, as opposed to the usual dark anger that shadowed his face.

"Are you still dating him?" He asked after a moment. We were walking along the highway now, and he changed positions so that he was on the side of the cars.

My stomach did a flip. "Why do you care?"

He shrugged, which I noticed he did a lot. His arm brushed mine. "Josie seems smart. You should try and listen to her."

_Oh, what, and you've known my sister for _how _long? A day? _"Oh, believe me..." I opened my mouth, ready to blurt out something about her special little predicament concerning our dead mother, but thought better of it and answered his question. "Yeah. We broke up. Josie was happy." And according to her, so was my mother. I loved Josie so much that it hurt. I was also very afraid for her. "You turn," I said, looking up at him. "And make it quick."

He ran his hand through his hair, what I noticed as another one of his habits. I wanted to catch it before it came up, hold it in mine. Instead, I balled my hands into fists, wishing that I was still carrying my backpack so that I would have something to grab onto.

"Me and my mom-"

"My mom and I."

"Whatever. My mom and I had a sort of...falling out a couple years ago." He sighed again, this time leading the way into the path through the woods that lead to my house. It was markedly easier to bush-wack following him as opposed to leading him. He pushed a branch out of the way and, instead of letting it _thwack _me in the face seconds later, held it for me. How touching. "And so I moved out-"

"You _moved out_? Like, to a different house?"

"Yeah. You should see it. Better than any mansion."

"I'm sure. But how old are you?"

"Nineteen. Held back freshmen year."

"Oh, okay, that would explain..." Why you look twenty-five. "A lot. But what kind of falling out could be so bad that you would want to move out?"

"It was a bunch of stuff," he said, running his fingers through his hair again. "My dad... I don't know who my dad is." My eyebrows rose. "But my mom does-"

"Well, gee, I'd hope so." I realized seconds later how insensitive that sounded amidst his whole big revelation. "Sorry. Please continue."

He looked back at me, fighting a smile, before continuing. "Actually I'm not even sure that my mom is so sure of it anymore, because she's never told anybody."

"Wait-not even you?"

"Nope. Because of the whole tribal dynamic stuff. If I turned out to be a son of a leader or something, then... Well, that would cause complications. And she probably made a promise to him or something, and I don't even really care anymore. But back then I really did, and I was a total prick about it, but she still wouldn't tell me. So I was pissed at her for that, and then I started sneaking out at night and stuff."

"To do what?"

"Stuff." He offered a hand to help me traverse a log, which I pretended to ignore rather than take and have my heart start beating loud enough to scare away half the animals in the forest.

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Prostitution?"

"Calla. Please."

"You're not gonna tell me?"

He looked back, his eyes connecting with mine darker than usual. His face was shadowed. "Another time. Please," he said quietly, the bass of his voice emanating against the soft _drips _of water on leaves and bird call. I got a feeling that there was a lot more to this than I could ever guess.

I gulped. "So... you were angry with your mom..."

He turned to face forwards again. "Anyways. Yeah. And then a couple months later I tried to apologize but I suck at apologies, and she was like, 'I'm embarrassed to have Rick meet you," and I had no idea who the hell Rick was, and I found out that there was this _guy _that she had been dating and was planning on _marrying _that I hadn't even met."

"Wow. Is he a total douchebag or something?"

"No, no. Rick's not even that bad. I don't know why I freaked out so much. I accused her of being a hypocrite, calling me immature while she was the one going out at night and... Well, you know. We both blew up and I walked out that night and we didn't talk for the next seven months."

My mouth was open, taken completely aback by his story. I had always seen him as That Hot Douche. That Embry kid. That guy who is a senior and always looks angry. When I had seen him before... I never could have guessed. I never could have guessed what his story was. I couldn't believe he was telling me this after only having met me four days ago, if you include the party. All the same... though I felt sad for him, there was a feeling in my chest that squeezing, glowing, wondering how many other people he had told, and how the heck he trusted me enough for me to make it on that list.

Did he trust me?

I wanted him to, I realized.

I wanted to comfort him or something, but I didn't really know how. I supposed that his story wasn't particularly tragic, compared to others-compared to mine, I momentarily realized. But all the same, I ached for him.

One of the most horrible things is to lose a mother.

We emerged onto my street.

"So, yeah. But seven months later, I saw her at the grocery store or something and I was about to get my ass out of there, but then I realized that she was holding a little baby girl. And I thought, well, our relationship is fucked, but I'd be an idiot to let the same thing happen with me and the little girl."

"Your step-sister," I stated.

"Yeah. And brother, actually, she had twins-Ellie and Noah. I love them and she loves them, so even though we're still on rocky grounds, the twins have kind of smoothed things out between us. And the keys are to their house-Rick's house, which she moved into. I watch the twins every Monday and Friday, and it took me a while to get her to give me the keys, because she was afraid I was going to come in at night and steal them away or something. If I told her that I'd lost them, she'd probably blow up."

"Couldn't you just explain what happened?"

"Explain? You mean, tell her that it was midnight and I was wasted at some crack-pot party and some girl thought I was a rapist so she stole the keys in self-defense?"

I snort. "Oh. Okay. I see your point."

Moments later, we arrive at the Forks Coffee Shop.

Standing there in front of the glass, seeing Lori wave at me from inside... All of a sudden, I felt awkward. I didn't know what to do with my hands, and I took me three tries to try to do someting casual with them, which ended up being sticking them into the pockets of my shorts. I wanted to touch his arm, touch his cheek, thank him for telling me that. Tell him that I hoped it worked out between him and his mom, that I would really like to meet Ellie and Noah sometime.

But as he stood there in front of me, his own hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes met mine. And the oddest thing happened.

They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. I abruptly realized the truth of that as I stood there, and only afterwards was I able to put the raw feelings into clumsy words. I wasn't thinking about how popular he was or how he had never noticed me before that day, wasn't even thinking about what he looked like or how his gaze set my skin afire. I felt a connection with Embry, with the real, unadulterated Embry, the one that his eyes showed to me, gentle and sad. He missed his mother more than he would ever say. He loved his siblings more then he _could _ever say.

I wanted him to know that I understood. That I understood sadness. That I wanted to help him.

Instead of all of that eloquent stuff, like the utter idiot I am, I just kept quiet. Our eyes were still connected, and for the life of me, I was too scared to say anything. Scared that he wasn't feeling anything close to what I was feeling, that I was just some stupid little girl with a crush.

"So," he said after a moment, glancing up at the windows to my house. "I guess I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, regret already starting to form in a knot in my throat. He looked like he wanted to say something. He took his hands from his pockets, looked like he wanted to do something with those, too. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair, nodded once, and started to walk away.

"Wait, Embry..." I called, mashing my hands into tight fists. When he turned he looked ridiculously hopeful, face suddenly looking younger than it ever had.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot..._

"I-nevermind." I said, shoving the words out in a garbled heap. "Nevermind. I'll see you."

His face shadowed again, and he looked down at the ground. "Bye, Calla."

I watched him walk away until he was out of sight, knowing that I should tell him but also knowing that I wouldn't. _Coward,_ I thought to myself.

It started to rain harder, and I decided it was high time I finally got into my house. I turned and entered the shop, the sour taste of everything I had not said still sitting in my mouth.

**Feedback appreciated...**


	11. The Bike Incident

**Okay, so, two things happened simultaneously this past week, the first being that I came up with an (to toot my own horn) AMAZING new story idea, and the seconds being that I discovered the TV show The Mentalist. I suppose that it should go without saying that, in between the excitement of a new story (not FF, sorry!) and the midnight Simon Baker marathons, I did not get a lot of writing done. **

**But, this chapter is particularly juicy (if I do say so myself), so I hope it makes up for it. Tell me what you think! :D**

**Oh, and I'm posting this five minutes after midnight. SOOOoooo, if there are any mistakes, that would be why...**

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As you may or may not remember, I am highly skilled in lunch-time cafeteria eating with as little physical and emotional damage as possible. I also have a melange of other highly useful skills, including but not limited to: successfully shaving my legs in a curtained shower one square foot in size without flooding the bathroom, jumping rope sitting down, and that magic trick where you "pull" a quarter out of somebody's ear.

I can also ride my bike with no hands.

And it's not even a brief, "Look, ma! No hands!" kind of thing- I can actually steer (to an extent) and pedal and stuff. It's simple, really, especially if you're female and have an old, crappy bike, because then you'll have that weird center-bar thing that you can squeeze onto with your knees, providing stability and steering power. Then, just sit low in the seat, take your hands off of the bar, and shift your weight accordingly. Voila. Just practice a bit before trying it on a busy road.

Whenever I'm not running ten minutes late and it is not deluging outside (in other words: almost never) I like to ride my bike to school. On the route, there is about a half-mile stretch of smooth downhill on an uncrowded road. Unsurprisingly, on this particular morning about a week and a half before I met Embry (is this how I'm measuring my life, now? Before-Embry vs. Post-Embry?), I was using it as a chance to fully utilize my no-hands skill, as I did every single time I road my bike to school.

No big deal, right?

Well, tell that to Embry.

Anyways, on with the story:

I wasn't wearing a helmet, a fact which I was regretting a bit, not because I enjoyed looking like some kind of moronic bug (which was the effect that all bike helmets have), but because it at least would have stopped some of the sting from the rain that was pelting my face. The weather was actually fairly mild, all things considering, with drops of rain that were fat and slow, but when you're _whizzing _down a hill even gentle raindrops can be pretty painful when they're hitting you face-on.

It was for this reason that I wasn't exactly watching where I was going.

Not, I mean, like I was zoning out or anything. I was just kind of keeping my head down and picking off some of the two-week old purple nail polish on my nails, looking up every five seconds or so to make sure that I wasn't about to careen towards my death.

And I swear, it was like he just _appeared. _

One minute, I'm looking up and realizing that the intersecting highway is coming up pretty soon so I should probably starting braking, then thinking, _Meh. I have time. __  
_

And then, the next thing I know, there's a freaking ridiculously attractive _man _in the middle of the road, right at the bottom of the hill. I realize in a split second that his car is there, too, parked horizontally across the road, which must be illegal. And Embry (he was the ridiculously attractive man, by the way) is just standing there in all his glory (not that he was naked-I wish-just, you know, that he was looking majestic) like he owns the freaking place.

I had never really been able to admire him fully before, being that he was tall enough you could only take in sections at a time. The view was quite nice, I have to tell you. The day was unusually warm and he was wearing shorts, which he had not yet done that year, and I could not help but notice that he had wonderful calves. Very chiseled.

Mind you, this all entered my brain in a time period of about a single second. And, looking back, there was a very high probability that my last thought in this life could have very well been about Embry's calves.

Not a bad way to go, actually.

Anyways, my heart went and jumped into my throat as it always did when Embry came around, and I was actually so pleasantly surprised to see him there that I completely forgot I was speeding down a hill and was about to run smack into him.

Seeing as the only other options were his car or oncoming traffic, he was probably the best option-but in my love-stricken, panicked brain, this did not occur to me. Because, as soon as I came to my senses and the wind in my ears and the rain in my face and the sounds of rushing cars all came back, I did the first thing which came to my mind: Which was to lurch forward and frantcally grab onto the handlebars to gain some kind of control. Except, this not only sent me wildly off balance, but also got me going even faster.

Everything was moving too fast. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My eyes squeezed shut involuntarily, my whole body tensing in anticipation or his car, the road, or the windshield of a speeding car: whichever came first.

Except it never happened. I was so fully expecting the crushing pain to come that when I _did _feel something hard and warm against my stomach, I screamed, feeling pain that wasn't even there. Because, turns out: that wasn't a car. That was an arm.

Somehow, whilst I was careening wildly towards him at a diagonal angle, he managed to slip his arm around my waist, his fingers securely clenched on the side of my rib-cage, knocking the wind out of me while I was wrenched from the seat of the bike. The bike, which he grabbed with the other hand right in the middle of the handlebars, leading it to a swinging stop against the side of his car.

I was pressed to the side of him, my feet off the ground, and as I started to slip he bent his knees so that I landed, panting, at a heap by his feet. He let go of the bike, the front wheel swiveling pitifully before it crashed to the ground, metal pedals grinding briefly against the ground.

For a moment, all was silent.

I gulped in a breath, ribs vaguely aching from where his arm had dragged me from certain death. My heart was beating so wildly that I could feel it shaking my whole body, vibrating the scene of peaceful green trees and houses lining the street around me. My muscles were cramping from having seized up so suddenly, and there was a thin worm of blood and a bruise appearing on my shin from where it had ripped against one of the pedals.

But, hey: I was alive! Happy day!

A slow smile crept onto my face, the relief starting to take hold as my heart caught up to itself. I could feel Embry standing behind me, my shoulder being pressed to one of those glorious calves of his, and I craned my neck skywards to try to get a peek at his face.

I stopped smiling.

Even upside down, I could tell that he was about to blow a gasket.

I quickly righted myself, turning around and standing up shakily. At this point, I could tell that he was _really _angry, because he hadn't even lent an arm to help me up. Not that I wanted him to, of course. That, and the fact that he appeared to be visibly shaking.

"Embry," I choked out, pulling my arms in. His lips were pressed together, a solid line, and there was a deep furrow between his eyebrows. I could've sworn his eyes looked black.

He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, took a deep breath, then tried to speak again. "What. In. Bloody. Hell. _Do you think you're doing?_" His voice was carefully controlled, but I couldn't help shrinking back.

"Well-I-uh-I-" The relief, the thankfulness, was quickly dissipating. What did he think I was doing? Riding my freaking bike, thank you very much.

"Honestly, do you-" He tore a hand through his hair, then swung it back harshly to his side. "Do you _want _to be killed? Do you?"

"Well, no, I was just-"

"I'm driving to school, and all of a sudden I see you on some kind of death ride-"

All right. I was getting just a tad angry, now. I threw my arms to my side, refusing to be intimidated by his six-foot-six, two-hundred-pounds-ness. "I was _not _on a death ride, I was simply-"

"-most stupid thing I ever saw!"

"I was perfectly fine until you came!" My voice was louder than I had expected, and I finally seemed to get his attention. All of a sudden I felt panicked, my insides all squirmy and sick. Was this our first fight?

He took a deep breath, pressing his palms flat against the side of his car, right next to where my bike had made several ugly scratches. Oops.

"Perfectly fine," he mocked. "Right. Which is why you were careening at full speed, in the rain, looking at your freaking nails, into oncoming traffic."

I stomped a foot, which surprised me. I didn't know girls did that outside of movies. "Well- I- I was going to brake, okay? I just saw you and got distracted!"

He was still blowing off steam, a muscle in his jaw working fiercely. "Without a helmet, no less!"

I didn't know why he was freaking out so much. I wanted joke-y Embry back, not this... this angry, scary Embry. But goodness knows that I wasn't going to sacrifice my pride and give in, even if, as the rain around us picked up, I realized I was nearly on the verge of tears.

"Lay off, okay? I was fine. I've been doing that since I was six."

"Six? _Six_? Oh, okay, thanks Calla, that makes everything so much better." I could feel his dark eyes scorching into my face, his inexplicable anger making me feel sick. I was too infuriated to look at his face, so I instead settled for his hands. His knuckles were growing white as he pressed them harder against the car, the muscles on his arms bulging. I was momentarily distracted by the dents that seemed to be appearing around his hands, but decided I was being stupid. Nobody was that strong, right?

I wanted to go home. Except, oops, school was starting in five minutes. A gust of wet wind blew wisps of my hair into my face, effectively shielding my eyes from his. _Don't do this, Embry...Use your arms to hold me, not make dents in your car..._

My pride still wouldn't give up. This _was _his fault. "What are you anyways," I sneered. "My mother?"

"No, not your mother, but I don't know what kind of mother you have to let you-"

"_Don't!"_ I screamed it.

He stared at me.

Now, I was the one who was shaking. Tears at the corner of my eyes, an ugly knot in my throat, my hands balled into fists. A sharp _crack_ of thunder sounded appropriately up above.

I had to remind myself that he didn't know. Had to remind myself that he couldn't possibly know that she was dead.

My voice came out warbly, through gritted teeth. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

I could see a change encompassing Embry. His eyes lightened, his jaw relaxed, his whole face went softer. He let one hand slip back to his side, and used the other to reach forward and cup my elbow, pressed protectively against my stomach. His eyes flickered from my bleeding leg to my eyes, almost spilling over with the rain. His eyes went painfully soft, looking down at me like I was some kind of helpless baby bird.

"Calla..." he said quietly, a rough, warm thumb grazing my arm.

I was done with this. I jerked away-how many times was I going to do that?- and kicked my bike. "You broke my bike."

"Calla, please. I didn't mean to-"

"You freaking broke it," I insisted, trying to hide a sniffle.

He sighed, and apparently accepted the fact that I was still pissed at him and not in the mood for a heart-to-heart. Smart guy.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! The chain or whatever is-"

"Yes, the chain slipped off," he said, kneeling on one knee next to me. "I can fix it in five seconds."

I wiped a dirty hand against my nose, my anger spiking again when he continued to just sit there. I was going to be late for school. "What are you waiting for? I thought you could fix it?"

"I could. But your derailleur is rusted and your brake pads are crappy, too."

I gritted my teeth. The rain was cold. I wished I could snuggle up against his chest, but for obvious reasons, including that we were currently still fighting and in the middle of a road and my leg was really starting to bleed, I knew that would be impossible. "And you are implying what?"

"I can take it home and fix everything. I'll give it to you tomorrow."

"Oh, so now you're Bob the _freaking _Builder." I stood up, my hands on my hips.

"Calla..." he sighed, standing up as well, taking my bike and opening up the door to his car.

"Don't touch my bike. Embry Call, I swear to God..." He lifted my bike up and laid it diagonally on the back seat of his car in one graceful motion. If you have ever tried to maneuver a bike in any kind of enclosed space, which I have, you will know that it is no easy feat. But apparently Embry could do it. Just another reason to hate him. "Give me my bike back," I said, putting my hand on the door before he could close it, my voice growing ever sharper. "How the hell am I supposed to get to school?"

He looked heavenwards for a second, before taking his keys out of his pocket. "Get in the car, Calla."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not getting in your car."

"Get in the car, Calla."

"I'm not getting in your freaking car!"

He looked at me and took a deep breath, rain dripping down his face. He put his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. Cool. Why don't you just _walk _to school, Calla, in the pouring rain. That's fine."

"It is. It is fine."

"Okay."

"Fine."

"See you there."

"Screw yourself."

He shook his head as he took his sweet time using his lanky limbs to open the door, slide into the car. I stood, getting drenched, with my arms crossed. He looked back one last time and gestured at the other seat. I glowered. He closed the door, I heard the engine start, and moments later him, his car, and my mode of transportation for the remaining three miles to school, were rolling away.

Well.

Great.

The rain made the ground around me look like static, the droplets splashing briefly before snuffing themselves out. The wetness was already seeping through my flannel t-shirt. As if the heavens were having a good laugh around their coffee table, the wind decided to pick up right at that moments. I scrunched my eyes closed as stinging droplets showered into my face.

Yup. Three miles. That's only, what, half an hour late? An hour? I'd done worse.

Ah, rain. Love the rain. And exercise- a little extra exercise wouldn't hurt, right? Maybe I wouldn't show up to school. Maybe I'd let him think that I had gone and died out here from hypothermia. Or passed out from exhaustion. Or been sexually assaulted by some-

Oh, screw me!

"Embry!" I screeched into the storm, sprinting after his car, my backpack bouncing wildly against my back. As if he had eyes in the back of his head (oh, wait- rearview mirrors) he slowed conveniently to a stop by the side of the road while I, looking like a drowned rat, sprinted wildly towards him.

He reached over and opened the shotgun door for me while I clambered in, dredging up the most foul cusswords I could think of and slinging them in his direction. I was soaking his seats. Good.

He opened his mouth to say something.

"I hate you," I spit, interrupting him. I was looking pointedly out the passenger window, determined not to care about his reaction, but I could not help but notice that he actually flinched when my words hit him in the face. He froze, and for a moment the car was achingly silent. Then, he nodded once, and started the car up.

I was cold. My chest felt sick. The radio was playing but it was on a commercial break, and I knew we both wanted to change it, but neither of us did. I could feel him keep looking over at me, his eyes flickering to my face, everytime a little ache stabbing into my chest that I swore I was not imagining.

And thus passed the worst car ride of my life.

We got to school five minutes early. As we pulled into the parking lot, I knew I had to say something. I wasn't sure what, but I couldn't leave it like that. But, as soon as he pulled into a spot and killed the engine, he beat me to it.

"I'm really sorry, okay? I just saw you, and it looked like you were going to get hurt, and I freaked, okay?" he gestured with the hand that was resting on the wheel, his body facing me but his eyes looking down. "I won't do it again. Actually, if you pull a stunt like that, then I probably _will _do it again, but-" He broke off. I turned to face him, my arms still crossed, and he looked pleadingly up at me. I could feel my insides turning to mush. "I'm really bad at this, I know. I just- I'm sorry."

I didn't answer, and after a moment, he tried again. "Please, Calla._ Please_ don't be angry at me."

I pressed my eyes closed for a seconds, took a deep breath, then looked him straight in his green eyes. "It's okay."

With those two words, it was as if some wretched blanket covering the car was lifted. Embry's eyes brightened. My chest relaxed.

"And," I added quietly, "My life wouldn't have been danger if you weren't there in the_ first_ place, but still... Thanks for, like, saving it. My life."

A hesitant smile crept to his face, less with his lips and more with his eyes, and I reciprocated.

"Just give me my bike back, okay?"

"Will do." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking shyer than I thought a guy of his immense stature could ever look. "Can I... Do you want me to give you a ride, tomorrow?"

I let myself smile. "As long as you don't make me chase after you."

The first bell rang, and I realized that we had to go. I had one hand on the handle of the car, ready to say good-bye, but I stopped. Because he had put gentle, hot, fingertips to the side of my cheek, turning it so that I was facing him.

He leaned in.

I held my breath. My heart exploded in my chest, while the anticipation of his hot lips sent the rest of my body simmering and rock-still.

Moments later, he pressed his lips gently to my cheek, quickly, tantalizingly, then caught my eye, smiled, and exited the car.

Well. Damn.


	12. A Burrito of the Best Sort

_You know I like my chicken fried, a cold beer on a Friday night..._

"Calla? What the hell am I listening to?"

I reached over and turned up the stereo, singing along. "_Well, I was raised up beneath the shade of a Georgia pine- _Hey! The hell are you doing?" I tried to snatch my iPod from his thieving paws, but he just held it out over the dashboard, out of reach unless I wanted to let go of the steering wheel and run into a ditch and kill us all.

"Changing the song from cheap-ass country music, to... oh, look, more cheap-ass country music. Cowgirls Don't Cry, Mud On The Tires_-_"

"Those are not _cheap_! You know nothing! Says the person who listens to freaking _radios_ having _sex _or whatever you want to call that dubstep crap."

We had had this argument already, and he didn't bother to defend himself nor his crappy taste in music, instead preferring to swat me absently in the face with the hand that was resting on the shoulder of the driver's seat. He pretended to gag as he scrolled through my iPod. "Do you have anything on here that is not country? Anything at all?"

"Yes," I insisted, making another grab towards my iPod before he could eject it. I was really enjoying that song. "I have-"

"The Hairbrush Song, from a- from a _Veggie Tales_ Album? Really?"He asked, giving me an incredulous look.

"Don't make fun of me! Josie loves them, I'm telling you-"

"Would you please pay attention to the freaking road-"

"I _am _paying-"

"Then what about that _car_-""

"What car-Oh, shit! Shit! Embry, help!" I let go of the wheel completely, screaming to high heavens, panic taking over common sense as I saw a car parked on the side of a bend in the road looming towards us _way _too fast through the rain-drop ridden windshield.

This, of course, caused Embry to cuss profusely and lunge over to grab the wheel, steering his car away in the nick of time from what probably would have been a casualty-causing crash, righting us in the middle of the road while I covered my face with my hands, fully expecting my face to be smashed into a wind-shield pancake.

And just like that, it was over, leaving only the sound of the gentle hum of the car and my shaking heartbeat. When I finally opened my eyes, Embry still had his hand on the wheel, his arm stretched across my body.

I started laughing.

"I just saved your life," he said indignantly, having slowed the car to a mere crawl.

"Thank you," I crooned, giggling uncontrollably into my hands, still placed half-protectively in front of my face. "I'm still a better driver, though."

"Are you going to take back the wheel or not?" He asked, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a smile fought its way to his face. As I reluctantly did so, mourning the loss of the gold-brown skin of his bicep disappearing from in front of my face, he took the chance to slander my superb vehicular skills once more. "And, yes, I suppose you are a better driver, if by _better _you mean you drive like a feral cat is clawing at your face-"

"I think it's just your car. I think your car just sucks."

He leaned the seat back and clasped his arms behind the headrest, stretching out as much as nearly seven foot tall guy could stretch out in a puny little Chevrolet. "Maybe you're right. Allie nearly killed me, too, on multiple occasions."

"Are you suggesting something, Embry? Are you suggesting that just because Allie-the-bich couldn't drive and I may drive like a freaking cat is on my face, that does not mean that women are in any way inferior-"

"You know, you tie way too many conversations in to feminism?"

"-because we are _totally _strong enough-"

"Strong enough, yeah, I'm just a little worried about the fine-motor skills-"

"Oh, shut up."

To any other person listening to our conversation, it probably would have sounded like we were a couple of bickering siblings. Or maybe some kind of married couple on the verge of divorce. In fact, though, we were none of those things.

I wasn't really sure _what _me and Embry were.

Friends? Definitely. At least, from my perspective. He could insult my taste in music, I could insult everything else about him, but in the end it seemed like one of us would always end up laughing. If that's not the sign of a friendship, then I do not know what is.

But at times, it was... complicated.

Like right now, for example.

It had only been three weeks since we had first officially met, but there was kind of a routine with me and him that already seemed like second nature. Nearly every day I would put away my books in my locker, going as slow as I could, wondering and hoping and yet anxious that he was going to show up, as if a gorgeous guy like him wasn't tired of me already.

And then, everyday, he appeared. And there would be a moment where our eyes would meet and I would think, _Please, God, don't let this ever stop. I like him too much for him to ever stop._

Stop doing what? I don't know. Being Embry. I found myself smiling when I thought of him without even noticing it, something that seemed to be happening a whole lot lately.

There would be a split seconds where I would worry what to say. A split seconds where I started to batten down the hatches, be prepared to change my attitude like I did with every body else to make him happy- should I play it cool? Try to be sweet? Ignore him completely?

But then he would launch into conversation, and we would start talking and I would forget to be awkward and I would forget that he was heart-stoppingly beautiful and that my mother was dead and I was just a freakishly tall runner girl with no hair.

In times like those, I knew we were friends. Good friends, even, but just friends.

But then...

He did things. _Certain things._ Certain things that made my stomach clench and my heart race and my brain start wondering if "just friends" was really the way to go.

For example, he had this way with endearments. He would call me 'honey' or 'sweetie'- usually after I had done something stupid and hurt myself. Always on accident, though- whenever I did something stupid on purpose (ie: the Bike Incident) he just got angry, but in a stern, I'm-going-to-cuss-but-not-actually-raise-my-voice kind of way, like my dad did when he realized I was sneaking out to go to slummy parties. At least, before he stopped caring.

I knew that it should annoy me. Because he called Josie 'honey' too, which basically meant that he was comparing me to a helpless five year old.

But, no matter how hard I tried to make it bother me, it didn't. Like last week, when we were both in the french class room, watching some horror movie for extra credit. And, I mean, it was in freaking _french_, so it wasn't like I even really understood what was going on even though I've been taking the language for four years, but all the same I was about piss myself, but I was trying really, really hard not to show Embry how scared I was. Except when the serial murdered attacked the girl in the shower with a butcher's knife (those french sure aren't creative-The Psycho, anyone?) I totally screamed and was so scared that I kind of jerked back and fell halfway out of the desk, hitting my head on the corner of a bookshelf.

Embry himself seemed to be more scared by the blood that started oozing out of a tiny little nick in my forehead than the freaking killer _rapist _on screen, but I just remember how he had looked down at me, with my hand pressed to my head, eyes kind of laughing and yet gentle and worried, all at the same time.

"Oh, honey."

That's all it took. And I just kind of melted right there on the french class room floor and he freaked and thought I was hemorrhaging or something.

In this certain instance, he had offered to drive me home. And I had told him that, just because you insist on being so utterly and annoyingly _chivalrous_, I'm gonna say no. And he was like, "What, are you afraid to be in a car with me for three minutes?" and he totally turned it into a dare which was not in any way fair, because then I just _had _to ride home with him. Except I insisted on driving. And after our near-death incident and he had dropped his arm to let me take the wheel back, he had kind of let it rest on the cup holders between the front seats, his fingers absently grazing my thigh whenever there was a bump in the road.

I don't think I have ever been more aware of a two inch section of my upper thigh in my whole entire life. I couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose or if he was trying to make my skin burn and shiver whenever we went over a speed bump, or if he just honestly did not notice.

Anyways, enough of that. We arrived at The Forks Coffee Shop.

I pulled up and we both got hurriedly out of the car, trying to avoid as much of the cold rain as possible, me heading towards the shop and him switching to the driver's side so that he could drive himself home. Except neither of us got that far, because we met in the middle in front of his Chevrolet, and I couldn't go to the side one way because his car was there and I couldn't go to the side the other way because Embry was there in all his gigantuousness.

I suppose you could say that I was stuck between Embry and a hard place.

I expected us to do the awkward little side step 'dance'-you know, where I go one way and he goes the same way and so I step the other way except he goes that way, too-

Instead, he hugged me.

I mean, not really, it was more of a mauling kind of motion, but it had the same effect, which was that in my jerking alarm and his- I don't know, Embry-ness- I ended up with my back (not to mention my _butt_) pressed up against him, his arms wrapped around my waist.

"You idiot!"I half-screamed into the rain. "What are you _doing_?"

He was laughing in earnest, guffawing, really, his chest rumbling through me with laughter.

"I don't really know," he confessed, tightening his embrace on me. I wasn't sure if it was the laugher of if it was just him, but he had kind of brought his shoulders in so that I was all wrapped up in a nice Embry-burrito. I tried reaching down to his hands to pry him off, but he was so _hot _and his shirt was so soft and he smelled so good, like something spicy and warm over just a bit of sweat and WD-40 from the auto-body shop where he worked, and he was holding me and I couldn't bring myself to make him let go.

"I tried to move you aside," he said, his face against the curve connecting my neck and shoulder. "But you're so skinny that I kind of ended up-"

"Attacking me?" I meant it to come out sternly, but I found that I was laughing, too. And smiling my face off. I could feel his breath on the skin of my neck, the warm muscles on his stomach against the slope of my back.

"What, you're saying that you would you like me to get off now?" He teased, his mouth close to my cheek.

"Yes, please," I near-whispered, totally lying. Another thing about Embry. I swear he made me bipolar. One moment I would be annoyed and the next I would be back to the blushing-girl-next-door. It was exhausting.

When he finally let go I regained some of my composure and had the good sense to huff dramatically and knock elbows with him (well, more like upper-arm to elbow) on my way past.

I hadn't even made it a step before I felt his warm hand catch mine, driving away any sense of the cold from the rain. "Calla?" He asked patiently.

I turned slowly on my heel, half-smiling. I knew what was coming. It was somewhat of a tradition by now, stemming from that second day, when I brought him to my house.

"See you tomorrow?" He asks, blinking into the rain, looking ridiculously cute as his dripping black hair curls around his ears.

"Yes," I answer, trying not to smile. "Now would you quit touching me?"

He just laughed, and drove away.

* * *

**Allrighty, so, now marks a kind of turning point in the story! Some very...ahem, _exciting _developments are coming, including an important new character and an argument (gotta love me some drama), so buckle your seatbelts and get ready to...well, to keep reading, I suppose. Anyways, it's gonna be great!  
**


	13. Notes

Never, before this moment, had I ever been so grateful for a massive outbreak of pink eye at school. It was nothing new, of course. Our humble facilities seemed to be constantly plagued by some disease or another. It probably has something to do with the layer of shit on the water fountains. Or the discolored sludge on the bathroom walls.

Whatever the reason, teachers, moreso than the student body, were dropping like flies. Actual pink-eye? Or an opportunity to escape a couple days of force-feeding useless information to unwilling teenagers? Up to interpretation.

What it all meant was that when the umpteenth teacher called in sick, because our school had spent their whole budget on adding a salad bar to the cafeteria to please some picky (rich) parents, they had no money left in order to hire substitutes. What do you do? Cancel school and give us students some much needed free periods to further our personal growth?

Psh. No way.

Their solution instead was to combine classes. I kind of felt bad for the remaining teachers and all, I mean, it must've been hard enough to teach Pride and Prejudice to a class full of sophomores without the added presence of twenty seniors who had already been bored to near-physical pain by it the previous year.

However. I, for one, was not complaining.

Why?

Calla. It was the first class we had had together the entire year. Actually probably a good thing, because if we had any actual classes together I would be failing them-but how was I supposed to focus when the most beautiful girl was sitting a row behind me?

She sat cross-legged in her desk, (She actually had a desk, whereas I did not-Thank you, public education system!) with a chin propped on a cupped hand. I could guess that she had probably already read the book several times over, because that was such a Calla-thing for her to do, and because I was pretty sure she was drawing in the margins of the book with her pencil. I wished I could look over her shoulder and see what. She still owed me a drawing. For the tenth time, I made a mental note to try to get her to stop wearing make-up, remembering Quil's warning to me to be careful. Apparently critiquing a girl's make-up was the equivalent to walking barefoot on a minefield. I truly didn't understand why, especially when she looked perfectly perfect without that shit.

Her eyes flickered from her book to my face, my neck craned back to watch her. Back to her book. Back to me. I grinned. Her lips pursed as she tried not to smile. I sighed and stretched, noticing the way her eyes fluttered to my arms before she shoved them back to her book. Yeah, I knew I had muscles-it kind of came with the whole werewolf-thing, and if she liked them, I was not above using them to gain her...favor...

I made sure the teacher's back was turned before I leaned back and flicked her with my pencil. She raised her eyebrows, and I used her momentary distraction to snatch her book. She gasped and opened her mouth to say something, but stopped when several people gave her dirty glares. The teacher had promised detention for the whole class if so much as one of us uttered a peep.

I was right, she had been drawing. And she had been drawing...Me. She had taken it upon herself to draw me. And there were no devil horns or anything, either. It was really good, too- I mean, _really _good-and it also explained why she had been giving me annoyed glares throughout the duration of the class whenever I changed positions.

No way was I giving that back.

I set the book with the drawing on it next to me and used my own to scrawl a note in the margin.

_Pretty good. Do I get paid to model? _I slid it over to her.

"Give it back," she hissed, leaning over her desk. I grinned, and she huffed. A person sitting behind her shushed us. Asshole.

She picked up the book indignantly and flipped a page, writing something with her pencil before giving it back to me. At the front of the room, the teacher snorted after taking a gulp of her Diet Pepsi, then turned back to her magazine. We were safe.

_I was bored. You were sitting there. It doesn't mean anything. _

It doesn't mean anything...That meant that she was worried it implied something? Like what? Anyways, I didn't believe her. She got defensive when she was angry.

_Really? I thought it meant you were in love with me. _

When she read the note, her face flushed bright red. I made sure not to change my expression, but on the inside... I didn't know what I felt. Hopeful? Nervous? She thought I was just joking, didn't she?

Was I joking?

_NO. It meant I was bored, because I have already read this book. YOU haven't. Get back to your work, slacker. _

She put the book back down next to me with a little more force than necessary. Let's see, the word 'no' in capital letters... yup, I had just been rejected. My heart sunk. Whatever. Another day. I needed a subject change.

_How many times?_

She paused a moment before answering, the blood still fading from her cheeks.

_The book? P&P? Two._

I stared at it pointedly when she slid it back over to me, and after a couple of seconds she leaned down and crossed out the '_two_,' replacing it with a '_three__.' _I smiled.

_I can't believe you, _I wrote back, flipping a page. If the librarian knew about this, she would be having a complete fit. _No offense, but...this is shit. _

_IS NOT! _She wrote back, uncrossing her legs and giving me a kick with a boot-clad-foot. _It's a classic!_

_Not the book, _I wrote back, quickly backpedaling. _This assignment. When am I ever going to SILENTLY READ my way to success? Miss Lame-o McGonagall is supposed to be teaching us life skills. _

She had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle giggles, and my chest lifted again. Not that I was taking her note to heart, but if she didn't love me now... Well, that was okay. I just had to keep her laughing. She would fall for me eventually, right?

Right?

God, this was confusing.

The bell rang seconds later, and there was an audible release in the room as everybody let their books drop closed. I waited until she was packed and standing to meet her. We started walking out, and she slapped the book against my chest.

"I believe this is yours."

"Oh, no, you keep it- I believe you'll want to look back on it in twenty years and laugh about that handsome charmer who used to distract you during class." She was walking right next to me. I could move my arm three feet and slip it around her waist. Was it wrong that I spent a lot of my time with her imagining how it would feel to do just that? Warm skin underneath the cotton of her flannel, the soft curve of her waist...

"Whatever. You're a senior, you can afford to slack. I have to go to Trig."

What did she have against me touching her, anyway? Emily, in a moment of motherly wisdom, told me that I had to be gentle. Gentler than I thought I had to be, because girls didn't like it if you were too rough. Somehow I didn't think that was Calla's problem, though. It seemed like there was still so freaking much I didn't know about her, and it kind of pissed me off-

"Embry?"

"Wha-I-oh, yeah. Yeah. I'll see you. After school, okay?"

She nodded, but by the way her eyes were searching my face, I knew she knew I was thinking about something else. If only she had any idea...

Oh well. Technology time. Fortunately, the teacher was present. Unfortunately, this was also the class I had with Chase.

True to form, five minutes after the bell rang, I could see him start texting around underneath the desk with his phone. When the teacher started giving him the stink-eye, he took out his binder and started fiddling around with some notebook paper. He looked at me, looked back, and seconds later he slid a piece of paper onto the corner of my desk, covered with his familiar abominable handwriting.

All right. Um, passing notes with Calla was one thing. With Chase? I don't think so.

"Dude," he muttered through the corner of his mouth. "Read it."

"A _note_? Are we seventh grade girls?" I hissed.

"_Just_ _read it_."

I sighed, but slid the note over anyway. Chase's topics of conversations were focused on either girls, alcohol, or both, but what he had to say had to be more interesting than learning how to create freaking graphs or whatever the teacher was talking about.

_What's up with the new girl?_

I stared at it for a full ten seconds before realizing what he was talking about. Was it the brunette he called out on a couple weeks before? Knowing Chase, probably.

_What about her?_ Ignoring the feeling that I was in fourth grade, I wrote it down and slid it back to Chase, who snorted, then tried to cover it up by going into a brief fake-cough attack.

_You were making eyes at her._

I looked around the room. The brunette... Yup, she was in here. I didn't know how Chase had even slightly construed me looking bored to "making eyes" at her or whatever the hell he wanted to call it, but I guessed he was just trying to rile me up. He didn't know that, in the past three weeks, I hadn't noticed a single girl unless she wore hats and bad make-up and liked country music and drew me in the margins of her thrice-read Pride and Prejudice. It wasn't that I didn't think the brunette was a nice girl and all, I just... I just failed to see the appeal anymore. Must go with the imprinting-thing. I didn't mind.

I realized that not responding to that was a mistake, because Chase took it as an affirmation. He wrote something else down, then wiggled his eyebrows as he slid the next note to me.

_Rack: _

_Ass:_

I didn't have to take any time to realize what he meant by that one.

He wanted me to rate her.

A flame of anger ignited all of a sudden, somewhere in my stomach. I knew it was hypocritical, I knew I had no place to be angry - Chase used the "rating" system all the time, and it wasn't like I hadn't participated before. Rating girls in a system, from 1 to 10 - every feminists worse nightmare, and I knew it was wrong. But I had never had any problem with it before - why was this making me so angry, now? And what would Chase say if I didn't answer? If I rated high?

I didn't give a crap about the brunette. He needed to understand that.

I angrily scribbled a '0' under both "departments." Only afterwards, after I had slid it to Chase and he looked at it and laughed disbelievingly, did I think about what Calla would think if she knew I had written that. The thought almost made me feel sick. Chase was feverishly writing.

_Agreed. I would want to fuck her about as much as I would want to fuck a dog. Then why do you keep hanging with her? Does her dad own ABC or_ _something? _

Moments after I read it, my world started shaking.

I looked at the brunette. Took a step back, tried to look at her like I would look at a girl before I met Calla. And she was... Well, I believe the proper term would be "curvy." Nice "rack" as Chase would call it.

Something was wrong. He couldn't be talking about her. But if he wasn't talking about her...

My blood boiled.

"Who are we talking about?" I blurted, full-volume. Every head in the classroom turned towards us. Chase smiled, enjoying the attention.

"I told you. That new girl. Calla."

Oh, hell. Oh _hell. __  
_

And I had just-

Calla. Calla. _My _Calla. Who drew me in the margins of her books and had sad eyes wore hats and had a sweet baby sister who she treated like a princess-

Oh my God.

I wanted to kill Chase. I wanted to _kill _him. I wanted to see his blood on this floor. He didn't deserve to talk about Calla, he didn't deserve to even _look _at her or _think _about her with his-his disgusting mind. I couldn't believe that I had just written that.

Screw hurting Chase. I wanted to hurt myself.

"Boys?" called the teacher's shrill voice from the front of the room. She was about ninety years old and deaf as a doornail, but she just happened to choose this moment to stop and turn towards us, her classes sliding off her nose. "Passing notes, are we?" she croaked. "You know the rules - either share it with the class, or take your behinds down to the principle's this instant."

I stood up so quickly that my chair slammed to the floor. Principle's office it was. Gladly.

I should have realized that Chase was too much of a pathetic _dick _to just swallow his pride and shack up some detention time.

He laughed, picked up the note, and before I realized what was going on, he had sauntered to the front of the room. The projector from the 1980s was on, and he slapped the note onto it's yellowing, grimy surface.

For all the class to see.

The teacher wrinkled her nose as she squinted it at, completely oblivious. She probably didn't even know what a _rack _was. But everybody else in the room? They most definitely did.

A handful of the boys snickered, nodding. The girls recorded it permanently in their minds to spew it on Facebook minutes later. A couple had the decency to gasp, or at least look away and act uncomfortable.

Me?

I knew my face was contorted. I knew my hands were balled into fists. I couldn't hear anything but my own hot breath, hissing in and out.

You have to understand that I was so angry that I could not think. Even if I could think, though, I most likely would have done the exact same thing, just aimed a little better.

Moments later, there was a sickening _crunch_ as Chase's nose met my fist. He was thrown back five feet and slammed into the pull-down screen for the projector before falling to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He yelled and clutched his nose, which almost immediately started spouting blood as if somebody had just turned the handle on a faucet.

The class looked on in amazement. The teacher was stumbling back, grabbing for her phone. The note was still on the screen, and I was still shaking.

What had I done?

* * *

**Gasp! Is Embry going to get in trouble? Is Calla going to find out? ****Well, psh, of course he is and of course she will. Otherwise this story would be boring. **

**Onto an update on my life: I am completing (um, hopefully) a triathlon on Sunday, and then am promptly heading to the mountains where I will bushwack and sleep under the stars for twelve days. Upon returning I will probably take a day-long shower (NO METHOD OF CLEANSING MYSELF FOR 12 ENTIRE DAYS) and nurse my addiction towards the Mentalist, because by that time I'll probably be in withdrawal. So, basically, unless I find the time to get a chapter up by, say, _tomorrow_, you guys probably won't be hearing from me for about two weeks. **

**I be sorry! **

**On a completely different note... Mentioning Pride and Prejudice in this chapter reminded me of something: does anybody watch the Lizzie Bennet Diaries? They're a series of Youtube videos that shows the story of P&P in modern times and they are AMAZING. If you are totally bored because you spend all of your time reading my story and are lost in life because I'm not posting, just watch them. I promise it's worth it, even if you haven't read the book. **

**Thanks for reading! Happy...day! :D**


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